


'til the veins run red and blue

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Bad Boy Louis, Coming of Age, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 17:40:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6866527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis Tomlinson is both a football prodigy and a troublemaker trying to change his life. Harry Styles is the boy assigned to introduce him to his new school. An old tree on a riverbank becomes their safe haven.</p>
            </blockquote>





	'til the veins run red and blue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [irretrishtible (irishvelvet)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/irishvelvet/gifts).



> The fic's title comes from Lorde's wonderful song '400 lux'.  
> This is the first work I ever completed in english, so I will probably do some extra editing after the challenge is complete. (Thanks to the moderators for the extension, by the way, thank you so much!)  
> For narrative purposes, Harry and Louis are the same age here. I have never been to Doncaster so, yeah, the geography aspect is kind of wack, especially when it comes to the river. Again, narrative purposes.  
> Finally, irishvelvet: I loved your prompt, thank you so much for it! I hope that I haven't strayed too much from what you asked - I kept this as loyal to your prompt as possible. I hope from the bottom of my heart that you enjoy it.

 

**August**

**i.**

_glass_

The digital clock on his bedside table indicates half past five am, and Louis is already up, perched up on his windowsill, smoking his second cigarette. He had a dream he can barely remember anymore, but swears Phoebe and Zayn were there, lying down among countless pieces of glasses.

It's going to be one of _those_ mornings.

**....**

When Louis was a boy, it was of customary doing to skip classes and head over to the old, abandoned industrial village near the one of the spots where the River Don rips the town in two to play fistfight  to the three of them - Louis, Liam and Zayn. Back then he was eleven or twelve, and loved the blood on his lips and knees - and he can't remember exactly _why_ for the life of him. He loves boys, now, and cigarettes and cars he will never be able to afford, too, and is set on leaving the fistfighting days behind himself.

Last time he came back with blood on his lips, months ago, Jay grabbed his face with such disappointment he wasn't able to sustain the scrutiny of her eyes. Her long fingernails left light scrapes along his cheekbones, and she cussed, chided and yelled at him in their front porch, neighbours and their sharp tongues be damned, and he didn't blamed her for it once. Still doesn't blames her now, when the only words she exchanges to him are orders and cumpriments during particularly good mornings.

There's no village by the riverbank now, but a relatively new secondary school with such hunger for a first footie trophy they agreed in accepting Louis even though every other school didn't. All of his sisters had kissed him on the cheek before he had dropped them off at their respective schools - Lottie wishing him good luck, even, and he hopes with all he has that everything goes right.

The day he first meets Harry turns out to be a dark, gloomy one, heavy clouds tainting the sky but no droplets falling down, the sun nowhere to be seen.

**.....**

Liam laid in Louis' bed on the Sunday, punched his arm, and then, stroking over the same spot, blamed it all on himself.

"I should’ve told you," he explains, propping his head in a strong, tanned arm. "I'm responsible for this mess, too."

Louis shakes his head, knowing Liam doesn't mean a word of what he had just said. He’s loyal, always so loyal, and Louis loves him like the brother he doesn’t has; he knows Liam would do whatever possible, tell whatever lie to give him some peace of mind, the same way he knows Liam spends long afternoons glued to the telephone perched in his kitchen wall, making sure Zayn is faring well in Melbourne.

"No," he answers, passing his blunt to Liam's awaiting fingers. "Bullshit."

Liam takes a drag and adjusts his legs and focus his gaze on Louis, brown, puppy-like eyes searching for the other boy's very soul. After a heavy pause, he asks:

“So how’s your life? I barely see you anymore, mate.”

Louis eyes him a second; brown, puppy-like eyes staring back at him. _I failed you too,_ he thinks, sadly. _Been leaving so much behind._

“‘Is good. I start school on Monday.” He answers. “Mum transfered me to King George. One of the footie players has bad back problems and can’t play anymore, and the championship subscriptions end by the end of the month. They stumbled upon me; everybody wins, happy days.”

Liam nods. “And the girls?”

“Good. They forgave me, and all.”

“That’s nice. I told you they would.”

“Yeah.”

Liam takes a long drag, eyes fixed on Louis’ ceiling.

"Did he tried to contact you?" He asks, then, and Louis is tired of hearing so much about him; _please, please let him go._

"No, he didn't."

"How about you? Did you?"

“Did I what?”

“Tried talking to him.”

"Hell, no."

Silence.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah." Louis answers, way too fast, way too loud. "I am."

What he and Zayn had was no tragedy, you see - they spoke each other names as if it the mere syllabes were poetry, kissed as if their mouths were the forces that kept each other alive. That’s how it used to be, at least.

And then it grew tiresome. The gold turned rusty, bended, snapped, turned into red dust, and they suddenly became just two scared boys running away from each other. And it keeps eating him over – _what did I do wrong?_

_God. What do I keep doing wrong?_

Zayn is not his biggest mistake – not even solely _his_ mistake, per see – but the one he thinks about the most – the one that seems to be unfixable – the one no seems to be able to let go.

Liam’s eyes remain on the ceiling.

He then nods, looking thoughtful and on the verge of worry, a crease forming between his thick eyebrows. Louis extends a hand and smooths it, giving the space a little, playful pinch when the job is done, and Liam shoots him a small smile.

He knows Louis is lying.

Louis doesn’t recall when they meet for the first time - thinks it was during one of the warm afternoons Karen would come over for tea – but he knows it’s been a long time. Liam has been a constant though the entirety of his life.

“I’m fine, really,” Louis asserts, then, “I’m even a bit excited.”

Liam still looks unconvinced, but only nods, choosing to pass the blunt back to Louis.

The high comes and goes, and Louis refuses to think about Zayn for the rest of the afternoon. _I will be okay,_ he promises himself. _I will._

                                               **....**

Louis’ dad told him he’s like the sun – a ball of fire full of heat and explosions and light. For two weeks, back when he was six and Johannah' belly was full with what soon become Lottie, Louis only attended as Sun. He recalls being fun until it grew tiresome. Back then Mark had yet to become _dad,_ and Louis only thought of him as a friend. He still does, but it’s a bit different now.

Louis misses him, but understands why he had to leave. He just started his own business and moved in with his new girlfriend, a blonde lady made of easy smiles named Amanda. It's odd, still, to think about his father walking hand in hand  with a woman if not Johannah. Louis had long conformed to the end of their lives as a nuclear family, back when his parents' fights were so loud that the twins had no option but to look for solace in his bed during certain nights.

One night during the past summer Mark packed a suitcase and hugged him tight before slipping through the kitchen door, and even though sadness tainted his veins, Louis felt mostly relieved.

He visits every weekend, now, mostly asking for updates and narrating nonsensical stories about his brand new life. So when he came barged into Louis’ room one Saturday, asked ‘ _what did you do now?,_ disappointment sharp and tangent in his voice, Louis decided to obey.

_You can’t live like this anymore._

And he knows that, he knows, so he sat down as quiet as he could as the headmaster spoke endlessly, his eye-rolls toned down to a minimum.

The headmaster, Mrs Lorena Arnold, has a pale and somewhat creepy face, a large and slighty distubing smile splaying across her face as she keeps lecturing Louis on the school's rules and low tolerance to troublemakers. It's a dull mimicry of the old speech Louis had heard several times already, the information all but interesting to him. He lets his mind vacay as she speaks, observing the movements of her mouth and almost inexistent facial expressions, listening to her words but not registering anything she says.

It's okay, really. He will be good this time. He promised.

When there's a timid knock at the door and Mrs Arnold suddenly wraps her speech, Louis blinks out of his haze, convinced he's finally free to go. He turns around, finding a lanky body standing in the middle of the room, just behind his chair, clutching a red bag and a book in his hands, earphones blasting a song Louis can't quite recognize.

He has a head full of curly, brown hair, round green eyes, milky skin and an endless, glorious pair of legs.

"Styles," says Mrs Arnold, getting up from her place behind the desk, "will you please show Mr Tomlinson here the school grounds? He just got transferred. It's his first day today."

 _No_ , Louis thinks, _No, no, no, no._

 “I have class now.” The boy answers slowly, the baritune of his soft pur a pleasant surprise.

“You can tell Donaghan to come talk to me if he tries to scold you.” the headmaster says, tone conclusive, leaving no room for refusal. "You won't get into trouble."

"Well. Alright, then.” He answers, and Louis takes some satisfaction on how he seems to be dreading this as much as he is. “I will waiting be outside."

"Thank you, darling."

"It's really not necessary", Louis chimes in. "I can learn everything by myself, don't worry."

Mrs Arnold levels him with a hard stare. "I insist."

The boy awaits for him in the corridor, lean body perched against a blue colored, immaculate wall.

His name is Harry Styles, he says, extending his hand in greeting, _and I don't think we met each properly yet._ He has a smile is made of pearl white, endearing front teeth and ornated by deep dimples set on both his of cheeks, a chiseled jaw emerging from under a thin layer of baby fat. Harry has big, limpid green eyes, and his curls frame his face artfully – a cherub of a boy. He is lovely, is the truth, pretty as a painting. If there's something Louis surely is, is an unabashed sinner -  pretty boys have always been both his joy and his damnation, so he offers his hand back. "Louis Tomlinson."

"Nice to meet you."

Louis only nods. Harry’s skin is pale and his hand large, such a contrast to Louis’ very own. He is still smiling as he ends the contact.

"Well, will you follow me?" He asks, turning around without waiting for Louis’ answer.

His chucks squack as he trails after Harry, turning from hallway to hallway, up and down the stairs. The walls are all painted in the same colour scheme, and everything is terribly neat, posters and warnings perched in a symetrical fashion independently of the function of the room Harry introduces him to. It’s a bit disturbing, is what it is.

“Bukowski?” He asks conversationally, eyeing the book in Harry’s hands, trying to set his attention on something else. The yellow cover reminds him of something Eleanor was reading months ago, and that, when skimming thought the pages, he absolutely loathed.

“Yeah.” Harry answers. “You into it?”

“Not a fan, no.”

“Really? I always thought Bukowski was an universal pleasure.”

Louis only smiles at that. “Harold, right?”

“Harry.”

“Well, Hank –“

“My name is _Harry...”_

“—I will gift you something way better than Bukowski for Christmas. I just can’t handle seeing someone reading _B_ _ukowski_ and not do anything to stop it. “

Harry barks a laugh, hand set over the handle of a large, heavy door. He pushes it open, revealing the open space of the football field. A gentle breeze blows, ruffling their hairs a bit as they step on the wet artificial grass.

“A gift for my kindness, I guess.” Harry states.

“Consider it a favor, Hart. An act of goodwill.”

Harry eyes him. _Painfully calm_ , Louis reckons. Inviting, but unclear on it’s intentions, like the thrill of a fight, or the darkness of the sea at night.

“My name is _Harry_.” He repeats again, finally, his voice deep and morbid.

“I know.” Louis admits, fishing a cigarette from behind his ear, lost among strands of hair. "I’m just fucking with you.”

“Just making sure you know.” Harry says, eyeing the cig between Louis’ fingers. “You can’t smoke on school grounds, you know.”

“I do.” Louis singsongs. “But you don’t mind, do you?”

Harry shrughs.

“Not really.” he says. “But you wouldn’t want to get caught smoking on your first day.”

“Well,” Louis dweels, pulling out his lighter. “Unless you tell on me, I won’t.”

“But what if I do?”

“It would be anticlimatic and disappointing.”

Harry smiles.

“It’s very unhealthy.” He mumbles quietly after a silent beat. “Smoking, I mean.”

“It’s an ugly habit, I know.” Louis answers, blowing smoke through his mouth. “Used to hate it, too. Picked it up from my ex.”

There must be something tainting his voice; Harry’s face goes soft, slow lull of his voice gentle as he answers: “I see. Messy breakup?”

“The messiest.” Louis retorts vaguely.

“A good reason for you to stop smoking, then.”

“You are quite cheeky, you know.”

“I’m trying to do you a favor." Harry giggles. "An act of goodwill.”

Louis chuckles. “Fair enough, Styles.” He then discards his cigarrette, crushing it with the heels of his shoe.  “I’m afraid I’ve kept you for too long already.”

 “Well, not really, but I guess there’s nothing else to show you around here anymore.”

“I say we head back.” Louis proposes.

“Need help to find your classroom?”

“No,” He answers, considering just leaving and skipping class for the day. “I don’t think it’s really necessary.”

Harry nods, both of them following back to the large door they came out from.

“See you around, I guess.” Harry says, then.

 “See you.” Louis parrots, turning around to make his own way.

(Months later, he crows Harry in tiny bathroom stall – kisses him until his lips tingle, until his heart aches, until it starts to feel like survival depends of it.)

 

**ii.**

_teamwork_

“Very late, Styles.”

Mr Donaghan is staring down at him sternly, his face etched in what seems to be disappointment focused on Harry, so he fumbles his pockets for the piece of paper Ms Arnold handed him quickly.

“I had to show a new student around.” he explains bashfully. “Ms Arnold asked me too.”

He nods, then, and Harry works on finding his seat, stumbling in a chair as his makes his way.  Melissa Whitelaw taps his arm when he sits down, smiling and a bit fidgety.

“Are you head boy?” she whispers. “Did she made you head boy? Lorena, I mean.”

“No, she didn’t.”

“Do you know if she has already chosen someone?”

“I don’t think so.” He answers, and then smiles at her. “She will choose you, I know.”

She smiles, looking relieved, laying back against her seat again, satisfied with his answer.

“Thanks, Harry.”

He nods and turns forward, lets his mind wander a bit as Mr Donaghan retakes the subject from where he stopped. Harry can catch up later.

He flicks the cover of his _Post Office_ copy back and forth, mindlessly, uncapping his pen and writing down.

**_...._ **

"Shh," Niall had said, cradling a bawling Harry to his chest. "It's okay. It will pass."

" _It's not even my fault!"_

"I know, mate, I know."

Two years later, they sit in the exact same booth, and Harry's face is completely dry. It has yet to pass, though.

“Don't you want to join the newspaper?" Niall asks, passing the pages of the school's newspaper in his hands, _McShake_ sitting untouched in front of him. “You need to do some extra activity.”

"Not really," Harry mumbles.

Niall gives him a look, but resumes talking. "Well, it sure needs  _you_  -- look at this! They can't tell the difference between your and you're!"

"Neither can you," Harry laughs.

Niall rolls his eyes. "They could do with your help."

"They can write," Harry answers. "Pretty sure it was just a typo."

"Still," Niall says, "it's boring and generic."

"What a shame."

"Harry," Niall says pointedly, "You should, you know, fill in your vacant time."

Harry shrughs.

"I'm content like this," he says. "Living my life calmly. Watching my movies, writing my bad poetry. It's good."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

Niall wrinkles his nose. 

"Besides that," Harry slurs, “I have no experience in journalism. Pretty sure they wouldn’t even accept me.”

"Hm."

There's a beat of silence as they both slurps their drinks.

"You know," Harry says, "Since Arnold likes you, you should suggest Melissa as this year's head girl. Maybe she will listen to you."

Niall shifts in his seat, excited with the subject change.

"She wants to be head girl, huh?” He shakes his head in amusement. “Man, do I love a domineering woman. How do you know?"

Harry snickers, rolling his eyes. Niall can be so crass, sometimes.

"I showed a new kid around today, right?” he explains. “And then she asked me if I was head boy, so I think she wants to."

Niall only nods, brow furrowed.

"New kid?"

"Louis Tomlinson. Transferee. This height."

"Oh.” The Irishman says slowly. “He will be your substituition, did you know?"

"Really?"

"Uh huh. Jarvis is all excited; he was the top scorer last season." Niall huffs. "He is all excited, as if _I_ wasn't in the team! _Me!"_

Harry laughs. "Well. You were number five. I wasn't even in the list."

"Well, Haz, you know the deal; the game is not only about scoring, no."

"I am pretty sure that's what the game  _is_ about, Nialler." He retorts. " _Scoring. Winning_."

Niall shakes his head vigourously.

"What are you even on about?  _Discipline. Technique--"_

_"Winning --"_

_"Teamwork."_

Harry chuckles.

"Make friends with him, then." He draws out slowly. _“Teamwork.”_

"I will!" Niall answers, determination and mischief glinting in his blue eyes. "I sure will."

 

**iii.**

_the warnings_

 

The coach, Mark Jarvis, is a burly, brown haired and red faced man with a sympathetic smile, decked head to toe in the school’s colours in a unfashionable, comic way. He leads Louis to the locker’s room with a hand on his shoulder that should make him uncomfortable, but, to Louis’ surprise, doesn’t.

“Lads,” he booms, all the chit chatter in the room dying, ten different faces turning in their direction at once, eyeing them curiously. Louis is torn between preeing or hiding under the attention. “This is Louis Tomlinson. Show our new team member some hospitality!”

There’s a chorus of greetings, but it’s a skinny, rose cheeked blonde boy, who steps up in front of the whole team, that catches Louis’s attention as offers him a hand.  Louis notices the lad’s blue armband before grabbing it back.

“I’m Niall Horan, the team’s captain,” he announces, accent thick in his tongue – Irish, maybe? “Welcome!”

“Thanks.” Louis answers, Horan’s handshake firm and vigorous.

“Did Harry told you about me?” the lad asks, chipperly. "He must have speaken of me...”

So he finds himself sitting in the same table as part of the team during lunchtime during the following weekdays, thinking  _this part was easier than I thought it would be._

Louis reckons Niall Horan is probably the most easygoing, carefree person he has met in a while. And a bit of a god in the King George grounds, it seems – rightfully so, he thinks: Niall is a skilled player, funny and gentle, a charismatic persona among dull faces.

He has his hip attached to Harry Styles, and Louis finds a part of himself iddly wishing to be a third part to their small, reserved clique, even if he could easily identify they had the kind of friendship that had no place extra to anyone else – something going back to elementary school, Niall said, and Louis can only think of Liam and how they seem to be growing apart – and how horribly natural it’s starting to feel.

He shakes the thought quickly, though, deciding to not to weep before the rightul time – _it is what it is._

Wednesday finds him picking on his lunch - chicken from the cafeteria that seems ridiculously undercooked – when, raising his head to ask for the time, he catches Harry staring at him, big green eyes trained on his face mindlessly.

He immediatedly stands straighter, feeling a bit self conscious and on the verge of blushing. Harry doesn't seems to realize the shifting, though, as he remains analysing Louis' face.

"Is there something on my face?" Louis asks after a moment.

By the moment the words leave his mouth he realises that the unintentionally sarcastic, high edge of his voice might come across as somewhat defensive, and poor Harry is now shifting his posture, suddenly looking so embarassed and uptight that Louis feels ridicously sorry for him.

He smiles to make it up, then, adding a quick 'or do you just think I am pretty?' with a fluttler of his lashes because he doesn't wants to seem like a rude arse when Harry has been nothing but gentle to him - oh so kind Harry, sitting eternally by Niall's right, offering help and distributing smiles _that can't always be genuine_...

Harry just smiles back, dimples surging shyly on his pale cheeks.

"Your face is clean.” He anwers. “And pretty."

Louis chuckles.

"Well, thank you. How very sweet of you."

"You're welcome." There's a few seconds of silence before Harry speaks again. "I was just wondering. Why did you transfered schools? Seems a bit odd."

"Why?" 

"Being on the footie team, and all. And being senior year."

"Well," Louis drawls out, "I had no option."

Harry raises an eyebrow as he realises, slowly.

"You got kicked out." he states.

(Niall pauses his conversation with Stan Lucas for a second, eyeing them curiously – after a bit, finding nothing worthy of his attention, he resumes his own dialogue.)

"The correct terminology is _kindly asked to leave the student body_ , Harold."

Harry rolls his eyes, smiling softly. "Right. Correct terminology and all, what did you do?"

 _There it is,_ Louis thinks. _The question._

"Do you want to know about the last time or about all of them?"

"It happened more that once?

"Four total."

Harry huffs. “You do sound like you have a lot going on your life. Tell me only about the last one, then." 

"I will let you know it's not a very exciting story, though."

"I love all kind of stories.” Harry drawls out. “That is, like, only if you feel inclined to tell me, of course."

"Well," Louis begins "The story is a trio of different events, actually. The first one was when I excused myself to go to the bathroom but actually escaped to meet up with boyfriend, who had got sick, and didn’t showed up to school or had let me know beforehand.”

He pauses, then, taking a sip of his juice and analysing Harry for any kind of negative reaction of his wording. He finds none, though, only a pair of curious eyes fixated on him. 

 _He already knows, dumbass,_ he ponders in his head.  _You're fucking obvious._

"Is this a romantic tale?" Harry asks then, face full of mischief as he clasps his hands under his chin, ther sleeves of his fancy looking blouse sliding down. There’s a rainbow bracelet clasped tightly around a pale left wrist and secretive look in Harry’s face. “I love romance.” he adds.

Louis smiles at him before carrying on.

"No. He's just a side character here. Now where was I? Right. So when I come back to school to get my stuff the headmaster is almost ripping his hair out, a few minutes away from calling the police. Truth is he overacted; it’s not like I was the first person to run away from school, hell, I wasn't the only one that day, but I was the only one he actively hated. So this was my first warning."

“And the second?”

“Pulled a prank that went wrong. Wanted to make smelly gas during chemistry but I wasn’t able to pull it off and I actually did a thing that – it was just -- it just kept bubbling and bubbling and it wasnt really dangerous but some people got scared and I was sent to the headmaster again.”

“The third?”

Louis decides to go for the watered down version.

“This boy in the team, named Jack, just really didn’t like me and I don’t really know why, actually. He kind of didn’t like anyone. I guess he was just jealous – because I used to be captain at Rossi, you know, and he wanted my place. Basically, we had this ugly discussion one day, and the Coach decided I was the guilty one, said I was destroying the team even though – even though all I ever did when it came to that team was to give everything I had.”

He feels the rage and frustation pent up under his skin all over again, but Harry keeps blinking at him, green eyes unwavering.

“I guess being kicked out of the team didn’t made that mad, even though I loved it and I loved the other boys, because – and I don’t mean to sound arrogant, you see – I just knew I could just play for any school I wanted too. But then Jack got my captain armband and I don’t know, my blood just boiled, so me and Zayn, my ex, we thought it was a good idea to argue with the coach. Needless to say it wasn’t.” Louis shrughs then, trying to go for nonchallant. “It was all so silly, really.”

Harry blinks at him as if he knew that wasn’t even half of the story. He doesn’t pushes for anything, though, thankfully. Louis decides to not get into details, decides not to tell about the broken windows of coach Cowell’s car, about the blood on Jack’s nose or how everything managed to go wrong is just one night, about how that was the longest night of Louis’ life because, really, what’s the point ? - they’re not friends, and Louis won’t fool himself by thinking so. Harry and Niall are just nice people who want him to feel welcomed. Funny and easy to get along with, and Louis feels truly crushed he hasn’t met them at a better moment.

He feels off. A bit alone, maybe. He misses Liam even when he’s with him; misses Zayn still, realises with a tug at the bottom of his stomach that he still remembers his face but forgot the exact shape of his eyes. Barely misses his body or the way he touched him, but misses his best friend, the boy with bony knees and nonsensical jokes. They were better that way. They should have realised sooner, he concludes, but he doesn’t know if he would change anything about them.

He misses his father and his voice. He misses himself and all the things that he used to hold interest over that give him no appeal anymore. And he misses Johannah, always sitting across the table at dinner, but continously refusing to meet his eyes.

Louis is doing well. He gets home at the right time, barely gets late to leave. Sees the days turn into weeks from the inside of his bedroom, the time dragging itself slowly and thinks _maybe I just have to get used to it._

He won’t, though, and he is fully aware of that.

Harry Styles just smiles at him, though, face sweet and open, unaware of Louis’ inner turmoil.

“That was actually a really good story.” He says, shoving a bubblegum in his mouth.

It seems so simple.

.....

Liam has this thing for calling them a family. Louis gives him hell for it but, lying over on his skate pranch, sunglasses perched over his nose even though the sun is already setting, he thinks there’s no better title for them but his siblings.

Eleanor is bugging him, slapping his calf like Lottie or Fizzy would, complaining, complaining and complaining. Her long brown hair falls over her shoulder in waves, her pretty, sweet face contorted while she transfers her buggering from Louis to Sophia. How is her hair always in place? He won’t ask, he decides quickly, otherwise she will never let it go.

“All you do is complain,” he fires instead, taking the sunglasses off his face.

“Shut the fuck up.” she anwers. “You are no better.”

“I have been quiet today, though. You, for one,  just never shut up.”

“This is true.” She lays a hand over his forehead, checking for signs of fever playfully. “Quiet Lou. You feeling well?”

“Feeling great, doctor, thank you.”

She smiles, looks over to where Liam and Sophia are now sucking face, rolls her eyes, sets her attention on Louis again. “Need you to show up more. I have to handle these two on my own when you are not here, and nowadays I keep forgetting how your voice sounds like.” She snaps a gum bubble. _Harry does that,_ he notices. thinking about all the times he had heard Niall complaining so far. “Things been quite changed.”

“I know.”

She nods. “Need you to hang with us. I miss you.”

“I miss you, too.” He answers. “I’m just avoiding going out nowadays. You could come to my football match, all of you. The season kicks off Friday; we could hang out after. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, it’s good. Is Jay is not letting you out?”

“I mean, she hasn’t forbid me to do anything. But I’d rather stay at home until I appease her.”

She nods quietly.  “I’m sorry about it, Lou.”

“It’s okay,” he takes a last drag of his cigarrette before crushing the tip on the cement ground.  “she will talk to me eventually.”

“Well,” Eleanor resumes, snapping a gum bubble again, “tell me now. Any cute boys in your school you can introduce me to?”

“I know no boys,” he answers, “I don’t care about cock.”

She drops another slap on his shin.

**....**

When Friday night comes around, Harry  puts on his best pair of boots and finds himself a spot on the bleachers besides Cara Delevigne.

“Feels weird,”  he says to her, while handing her a pack of cherry gum, “sitting here. Not playing.”

“I’m sorry about your back,” she says soflty.

“Eh. It’s okay.” He answers. “Is not that bad.”

He watches, rapt, when the judge whistles the beggining of the match.

Niall screams dramatically when Harry enters the locker room after the match is over, covering his chest with both hands when he sees him, provocking laughs from the other boys. “You’re not supposed to be here, Styles!” he says, expression scandalized. “Honestly. What happened with common decency?”

Harry plops down on one of the benchs, rolling his eyes. “You gonna take too long here?”

“Nope,” Niall answers, popping the ‘p’. “We’re going out to celebrate; ya up to?”

“Dunno,” Harry slurs, “think I’m going to go home, watch a movie. I’m feeling homely.”

Niall frowns. “I’ll go with you, then.”

Louis Tomlinson turns around a wall of lockers, hair damp and shirtless, his golden skin exposed. “Harold! Fancy seeing you here. Hi.”

“Hey,” Harry greets, “You did great out there. Congrats.”

“Thank you,” Louis smiles, entering a black, plain hoodie. “It was all teamwork.”

 “As I always say... Teamwork.” Niall nods in agreement.  “You coming to take pints with us, Louis?”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Louis scrunches his face, shoving his dirty jersey inside an Adidas bag. “I will have to skip tonight. Sorry.”

“I see,” Niall says. “Well, go with us next time, will ya?”

“Course. Bye, lads.”

“Bye,” Harry murmurs, stealing at quick glance at the sway of Louis’ hips as he walks away.

“You sure you don’t want to come?” Niall asks, claiming Harry’s attention back to him.

“Nah. Tonight is a Netflix night.” He raises himself, drops a affectionate kiss to Niall’s cheek. “See you Monday.”

“You going to Holmes Chapel for the weekend?”

“Yeah. Gotta appease the beast.”

Niall makes an apologetic expression.

“Send a message when you get there.”

“I will.” He says before leaving the room.

 

**iv.**

_the weeping willow_

_can we talk?_

_i feel like we need to talk, solve our shit, make things right_

_i’m sorry abt phoebe_

_louis_

_feel free to answer me whenever you want_

_Received Monday, 11:47 am_ , Louis reads. Unknown number.

He slams his tiny locker closed, takes his bag, slips throught the front door when no one is looking.

 _If there’s nothing good to be said,_ he thinks, opting to not going home and walking mindlessly around the parking lot, _say nothing at all._

He he shoves his mobile back in his pocket and leaves the lot, legs taking him in the direction of nowhere. Lighting his last cigarrette, he takes deeps, even breaths.

There’s a buzz in the back of his head, and an unknown heaviness has settled in his chest, soaking his very flesh and bones.

 _Fuck him,_ he thinks, _it’s too easy this way._

Louis discards his cigarette when he reaches the River Don, deciding to go down the low cliff to the riverbank, find shelter under the small brigde that crosses the canal.

 _His loss,_ he repeats over and over in his head, _his loss._

A rage wave hits him; a cry of indignance – _how dare him_ – so he takes a deep breath, tells himself to calm down.

There’s a lanky, curly haired figure sitting under the old weeping willow where Louis had his first kiss a few feet away when he raises his head again. He stands there, quiet and clad in a lavender sweater, arms crossed and still as a statue - a masterpiece himself. Louis reckons for a hushed, innaproppiate second Harry Styles is one of the most beautiful people he has ever seen; both soft and hard, made of pale and vibrant colours, bambi eyes and long limbs.

Recovered from his moment of wonder, though, he quickly considers simply getting up and leaving, hoping Harry has yet too see him - Louis does not feel like talking, and if Harry hasn't registered his presence then walking away won’t be rude.

As if sensing something, Harry wipes his head around harshly. Green eyes settle over Louis face, the other boy's expression a blank state. Louis notices the tip of his nose is red, though, slightly swollen.

Louis considers just turning away for a moment but ultimately decides not to – Harry is nice to him for no apparent reason, and talking to someone might sway his mind off of things  -  so he gets up and walks to where the other boy sits.

“Curly.” he greets shyly. “Didn’t see you there.”

“Hello.” Harry answers, and Louis realises the red, puffy wet circle of his eyes.

His mouth beats his brain. “Have you been crying?”

“Uhm.”

“Sorry.” Louis mumbles quickly. “This was weird. Shouldn’t have asked.”

Harry sniffles, nods. “It’s okay.”

There’s a bit of uncomfortable silence, the sounds of the river rushing by and the traffic on the street seeming so loud. Harry sniffles, muscles tense, jaw set and Louis watches his fists clench and unchlench.  “I did cried a bit.” Harry says. “Is it too obvious?”

“Your face is swollen.”

Harry raises a hand to his cheek in a self conscious act. "How swollen?".

“Not much. Swollen was the wrong word." Louis bleefs. "Just red.”

Harry nods again, releasing a deep breath. “Ok.”

“Are you okay?” Louis asks, then.

Harry shrughs. “Will be. You just gonna stay in the sun? Sit here.”

He plops down beside Harry under the tree, one leg perched over another.  “How about you?” Harry asks.

“How about me what?”

“Are you okay? You seem giddy.”

Louis takes in Harry’s eyes for a moment. They seem genuine and earnest, but how could he even begin to explain? How could he tell him what he can barely explain to himself?

His chuckle comes out dryly, humourless. “Will be.” He parrots.

Harry smiles softly. “Do you want to talk about it? I’m a good listener.”

“You don’t want to listen.”

“Why not?”

“Why would you?”

Harry shrugs. “I like you?”

“You like me?”

“I do.”

“We don’t know each other that well, you know.”

“We don’t.” Harry agrees. “That didn’t stopped you of asking me if I was okay, though.”

“It’s not the same thing.”

“Yes, it is. And was very sweet of you.”

 _Don’t need your validation_ forms at the tip of his tongue but dissolves when his eyes meet Harry’s open, still red face. _He genuinely wants to listen_ _, he realises._

There’s a bit of silence, and Louis takes on pulling grass from the ground, shrugging a bit. “I... don’t know how to even begin.”

Harry reachs to his hand sofly, squeezes for a quick second, and let go just as quickly, retraining his touch as if Louis' skin is on fire. “It’s okay. Whatever it is, I am truly sorry.”

Louis smiles at him.

“I know you are.” He wiggles a bit in his seat. “It’s just that. I don’t know exactly how to describe how I feel.”

He takes a few pebbles in his hand, throwing them at the muddy, dark water. “I did some fucked up shit, you know, before I transfered schools and now it’s all coming back to me. Kind of.”

“How fucked up?”

“The ‘I almost messed up my entire life’ kind of fucked up. Not the ‘I killed someone’ kind of fucked up, just to make it clear.”

Harry wrinkles his nose, huff out a small laugh. “I don’t know what to say about this, mate.”

“Then don’t say anything.”

“Well. I will keep my mouth shut, then.”

“No need to.” Louis says, extrating grass from the ground. “Tell me why you’re here.”

“You mean my existential purpose?”

Louis rolls his eyes dispassionately. “I mean why you were crying.”

“It’s silly.”

“You can talk to me.” Louis whispers. “If you feel comfortable to.”

“I feel. Comfortable, I mean. Talking to you.”

“Good. If feel comfortable, too.”

 “Nice.”

“So what happened?”

“My father is asking me to move in with him to Cheshire again, and saying he might go to court fight for my custody or something. I know he won’t but they do this all the time, you know? My parents. Kind of use me... as I weapon. Today I woke up and my mum was screaming to her lawyer and I kind of overwhelmed by it and then I ended up here crying like a baby.”

He pauses for a bit. For a moment Louis thinks he’s done speaking, but then Harry resumes, still not looking at him. “They are good parents, you know? I love them both dearly, more than anything in the world, really; but it did grew tiresome a few years ago. And it’s not like it makes a difference! I will be eighteen soon and, either way, I come and go as it pleases me. It’s childish, and stupid, and I told you it was silly.”

“It is not.”

“I know it is.” Harry answers softly, voice so low Louis almost misses it. “But thank you for listening anyways.”  

“You can talk to me whenever you want to,” Louis blurts without thinking.

Harry smiles at him, close mouthed and sweet, eyes still looking at bit shiny from tears.

“Same to you.”

“Did you had anything for lunch?”

“No,” Harry answers, “I’m starving.”

“I have some extra money with me. Could pay you something.”

“No, thank you. You don’t need to.”

“It’s okay.”

“Louis,” Harry says slowly. “I don’t know if I would feel comfortable with that.”

They ended up shoving down burgers and greasy fries on a they find diner by the corner fifteen minutes later.

“I will pay you back,” Harry insists. “I swear.”

“I believe you.”

“Tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

Harry extends his tongue out before taking a bite of his burger, and Louis reckons it being both funny and endearing. A bit of ketchup pools at the side of his mouth, and Louis indicates touching his pointer finger to his own mouth, Harry getting the hint and cleaning it, looking slightly bashful.

He swallows the bite as Louis takes a sip of his Dr Pepper’s.

“You gonna go back to practice later?” Harry asks, then.

Louis groans a bit. “ _D_ _amn_ , I forgot about that.” He answers. “Yeah, guess so.”

Harry keeps eyeing him, the scutiny of his green orbs reading something about Louis. “You took my place, did you know?”

“Your place?” Louis parrots, confused.

“No, not took. Filled, I mean. In the team. I’m the one,” he waves his points his finger down, as if illustrating. “with the bad back.”

“I’m sorry,” Louis anwers experimentaly, unsure of what to say to that.

“For what?”

Louis shrughs.

“Dunno.”

“I didn’t say it to try and make you feel bad, you know,” Harry clarifies, “I just thought that, um, you should know. It’s my back.”

Louis nods slowly. “Ok, I guess.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you miss it? Your spot in the team, I mean.”

“Yeah, kind of. I loved footie, it was fun. But it was more of a way of passing time, and there’s worse things in life, you know?”

“I think so.”

"And besides that, I won't be missed, anyways."

"Every single player is missed, Harry. In every team." Louis says, frown set on his face, only to be met with a dismissive hand wave.

" _Please._ You are, maybe. I've learned of your fame." Harry answers. "I can kick a ball around, but I  _do_ have two left feet."

Louis chuckles. "I'm sure you are a perfectly skilled player, Harold," he says. "And local secondary schools competition fame is hardly fame."

"I'm skilled at sitting on the bench," Harry giggles. "But it's okay, really. I'm aware of what I'm good at and what I'm not. I'm reasonable at football. I only joined the team because Niall wanted me too, you know, and only got through because the other boys were awful. Like really, really bad. I've been, uhm, appreciating the free time. It's good."

Louis nods quietly. "Think if I couldn't play anymore I would die," he mumbles.

"Isn't that a bit over the top?"

"Yeah," Louis admits. "I quite like living. But it's true."

"Why makes you say that?"

Louis shrughs. "Can't imagine meself doing anything else for a living."

Harry gives another bite, arching an eyebrow. "I can see you as a lawyer," he says. "You seem good at arguing."

Louis guffaws. "And that's all lawyers do, now?"

"Kind of," Harry answers. "I personally want to go to Law School. I plan on becoming a judge before thirty."

"Ambitious, are we?"

"As much as possible."

Comfortable silence settles over them as Harry finishes his burguer, Louis taking a gulp of his Dr Pepper's. “It’s my father’s claim," Harry says after a while. "my back.”

"How so?"

“I rolled down the stairs to my building, you know? It was so painful I though I wouldn’t be able to walk anymore. I’ve always been a bit gawky, and he knows that. But he says that it happened while I was in my mother’s custody, and she doesn’t know how to take care of me, blah blah, my room will be bigger in Cheshire, as if I’m five or summat.”

Louis only takes another sip of his soda, unsure of what to say. _That sounds fucked up,_ he considers, but let’s it slide, afraid of offending Harry, so he goes for the safe questioning instead.

“Are you going?”

“Where? Cheshire?”

“Yeah.”

“No. I like it here. I visit him on weekends.” Harry answers. "Are your parents still married?"

Louis shakes his head negatively. "They divorced last summer."

"Mine divorced when I was little," Harry mumbles. "I still hoped they would get together again after a while. Silly me."

Louis nods, taking in Harry's beaten down expression. "It's not silly," he says. "there's nothing wrong with that."

Harry eyes him for a moment, nodding. "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

“Anyways,” Harry breathes out, “Dr Pepper is nasty.”

**....**

 

Jay is sitting at the sofa when he gets home, hands clasped over her lap, the telly playing some show he doesn’t recognize.

She faces him blankly for a moment. “Why didn’t you do the laundry?”

Louis is taken aback so suddenly he thinks he might fall down.

“Didn’t know I had to.” He mumbles.

“That’s no excuse.” Jay answers, turning her face back to the television.

“I’ll do it in a moment.” He blutters, starting to climb the stairs two steps at time.

She rasps at his door later that night, when he is already clad in his favourite ratty, old tshirt, light and shy, her head poking into his room.

“Hey. You awake?”

“Yes.”

“Can I come in?”

“Of course.”

She steps into the room, shoving a pile of dirty clothes aside with the pad of her foot, coming to sit down at the edge of his bed. “Can we talk?”

“Always.”

Johannah takes a deep breath.

“I’ve been unfair to you,” she says after a moment. “Childish, even. And I’m sorry for that.”

He remains silent, waiting for her to go on. “But I want to make sure you are aware that what you did was terribly irresponsible, and I expected - still do, actually - I expect more from you, love.”

Louis nods.

“I know.” He murmurs, feeling chastised.

“Your sister could have _died,_ Louis. Do you understand how serious this is?”

“I do. Believe me, I do.”

She lets out a long sigh, extending her arms. “Come here. Give us a hug.”

He does as told, laying his head over her chest and hugging her tightly, eyes closed, feeling like he could start crying at any moment when he feels her smell. “Missed you so much,” he murmurs.

“My baby,” she says soflty, her small, delicate hands carressing his hair. “I was thinking.”

“Huh?”

“If you..” she cleans her throath. “If things don’t work out at your new school maybe, you know. We could go to a specialist.”

“A specialist?”

“Some kind of counseling, love. Maybe a psychologist.”

Louis groans.

“I’m not going to a psychologist, mum.” he says. “I’m good. I’m doing well.”

“I’m not crossing this out, Lou.”

He just nods, eyes still closed, too tired to argue.

“Do you forgive me?” Louis asks after a while.

“Already did.” She anwers. “Do you forgive me?”

“I do.”

Johannah kisses the crown of his head tenderly. Louis feels exhilerated, and the messages sit forgotten.

He falls asleep in his mother’s lap.

**v.**

_glimpses_

He sits down with Harry under the same again the next Thursday, the sounds of the river a calming comfort, both of them relishing each other's company, Harry talking about a movie he watched with his sister Gemma the night before, the book he brought with him forgotten.

He barely knows how they ended up there again; just knows Harry complained of boredom during lunch, so he suggest _let’s slip out_ , so convinced Harry would refuse.

Louis barely registers the words but soaks in the deep, slow cadence of Harry's voice as he lay on the grass and closes his eyes.

"I love the way you speak, " he confesses after Harry finishes. "You have no rush. I could listen to your rambles forever."

Harry rumbles a laugh, slapping Louis' leg.

"Shut up."

"I mean it!" He eyes the book on Harry's right. "What are you reading?"

"Walt Whitman."

"Read to me."

"Louis..."

"Read to me," Louis says, closing his eyes again. "I promise I will listen."

Theres movement before Harry's voice surges again.

" _A glimpse through an interstice caught, of a crowd of workmen and drivers in a bar room around the stove late of a winter night...”_

**....**

Harry brings a blanket on his bag the following week. “There’s bugs here,” he clarifies. “And I’m allergic.”

Louis chuckles.

“Never took you as the skipping classes type, Harold.” He says, laying down on the plaid blue and red, old looking blanket using his crossed arms as a leverage to his head.

“I am not,” Harry says, opening a diferent book, “but there’s a first time for everything, right?”

“Right.”

**.....**

Harry eyes the dark, gloomy, heavy sky, a flock of pigeons flying up north.

He eyes Louis where he lays with a arm covering his eyes, a patch of skin showing up where his shirt is slightly hitched up, so still Harry would think he were asleep if it weren’t for his quick breathing patterns.

“It’s going to rain,” he states, matter of factly. “Get up.”

“No, it won’t.” Louis bemoans, removing his arm and opening his eyes slowly. “I don’t want to move.”

“Soak up all you want, then, but let me take my blanket.” Harry answers, picking the strap of his bag. “Come on, Lou.”

Louis sits down but doesn’t move. “When my Nan wanted me to be quiet,” he says, something mischievious about his face, “she would point at the rain and say God was crying because of my actions. It was fucked up.”

“Your point?”

“I’ve been doing everything right, nowadays,” he answers. “So God won’t cry.”

Harry scoffs at his self-satisfied face. “Shut up,” he says, just as rain begins to pour down and Louis squeaks.

**....**

“For someone who hates smoking, you sure are curious about it.”

“Stop judging me.”

“Why, youngster? All you do is judge me. It’s only fair.”

“That’s not true!”

Louis rolls his eyes. “It’s just banter. Come on, put it between your lips.”

Harry wiggles his eyebrows, laughing and taking the cigarrette between his fingers.

“ _Jesus,”_ Louis laughs. “Dirty minded, are we?”

“What can I say,” Harry says around the cigarette, “You bring out this side of mine.”

“Is that a compliment? Are you flirting with me? What’s that?”

“Discover by yourself. Come on, where’s the fire?”

“Take a deep breath, or it won’t light up. Be careful not to swallow the smoke.”

He extends his hands, flickering the lighter, and Harry does as told.

“Take a breath again, and release the smoke. Like that. You see? Pretty simple.”

“This tastes like death.” Harry complains, handing the cigarette to Louis.

“It does.” He agrees, taking a drag himself.

“Thought you bought me the mind flavored ones.”

“I did.”

“Ew. There’s a reason I didn’t tried this before.” Harry makes a disgusted face, shoving a bubblegum in his mouth uncerimouniasly, prompting laughs on Louis’ behalf. “ _Ew.”_

“You will get diabetes if you keep up on this rhythm, love.” Louis says.

**....**

“Does Niall knows?” Louis asks, gathering his stuff as the sun starts to descend in the sky. “That we've been killing time here, I mean.”

“No,” Harry answers, waiting to Louis to pack up so they can head back. “I didn’t told him.”

“Why not?” Louis asks, helping Harry up the small cliff. “Careful with your back.”

“Dunno,” he answers. “I guess that if you have something good going on, keep it to yourself.”

**....**

“Can I let you in on a secret story?” Louis asks him as the last day of September.

Harry sets his notebook down, looking at where Louis is crouched down right by the water. He looks beautiful bathed in the pale afternoon’s sunlight, clad in blue and white, specks of yellow and gold seeming to mold him. _A water nymph_ , Harry thinks, _a creature of the Gods_.

He hand long noticed Louis’ posture changes when they are by themselves; his limbs turn looser, his smile easier, his voice higher. Harry reckons he should this carefree all the time, in all places, to all people; but, in a similar fashion, is secretely pleased that there seems to a side of Louis’ that, in his iddle, hopelessly romantic mind, exists solely in his presence.

 _Such vanity,_ he scolds himself, making a mental note to never voice such thoughts to Louis.

“I love secrets.” He answers, finally, as Louis watches him. “Tell me.”

“Do you remember the story I told you in the cafeteria? About how I got kicked out of Rossi?”

Harry nods feverourisly.

“Well, the same night,” Louis goes on, collecting peebles in his hands. “The coach’s car had all of it’s windows broken, and the tires flat. No one blamed on me, though, but on my ex.”

“Was it him?” Harry asks shyly after a bit.

“No. He said it wasn’t him, but no one save me and our friends believed. Coach Cowell said it was on him, though, even though everyone knows it was actually Jack.” Louis throws a pebble in the river. “And then, Zayn got kicked out too.”

Harry scrunches up his nose. “Why did they do that?”

“Evil people. And Zayn was just... he was an easy target, I guess.” Louis answers.

“That’s terrible.”

“Yeah. It doesn’t end there, no.” Louis throws another pebble. “Zayn kind of blamed it on me.”

“You had no fault.” Harry says, probably the quickest he has ever spoken in his entire life.

“I guess I kind of did.” Louis offers him a forced smile. “If I didn’t got myself in so much mess maybe this wouldn’t have happened. And I guess he needed someone physical to blame, not only the system, you know, and I can’t shame him for that.”

Harry doesn’t quite understands it, but nods anyway. “And then you broke up?”

“Yeah, kind of. I mean, his dad made him fuck off to Bradford to live with his uncle, and I didn’t know about it until I decided to look for him. He lives in Australia now.”

“That sounds awful.” Harry says, the words souding flat and way too mechanical.

Louis grimaces, not even looking at him anymore, but keeping up with his chore of throwing pebbles.

“It was the worst night of my life, _go_ _d,_ and it wasn’t even because of him.”

“You don’t need to tell me.”

Louis turns to him, his blue eyes stripping Harry’s soul bare.

“But can I, if I want to?”

“Of course.” Harry answers sincerely.

“Me six years old sister has ashtma,” Louis resumes, then. “She had a crisis the thirty minutes I was away looking for Zayn.”

Harry’s breath hitches. “Did she... did ended up fine?”

“Yeah. My other sisters, and I have three more, called our neighbour, my best friend’s mum, and she helped.”

“So everything ended up good, right?”

“Yes, but it was pretty scary for her. For them actually. And my mum, _God_ , she is still mad.” Louis run out of pebbles. “And they were in my care. And I keep thinking, ‘what if they couldn’t have found any help?’”

There’s a long, tense, outstreched moment of silence. Louis chuckles dryly, then, looking at Harry’s direction. “Too much?”

“No,” Harry bleefs. “but why did you told me this?”

Louis shrughs. “I don’t know why, actually.”

Harry wants to tell him it’s okay. That it passes, that bad moments happen, that bad nights end, that it will heal. He can’t, though, can barely shape the words; reckons Louis heard and repeated them to himself too many times already. He settles to pull grass off the grounds, then, drawing his knees up to his chest.

“You know,” he blurts out suddenly, his mouth faster than his brain. “When Gemma and me were little and still bathed together, she made me drink mum’s shampoo, said it tasted like cherries. And I thought ‘okay’, because it smelled like cherries, so it should taste like cherries but. It didn’t. My mum was so pissed. It was the first time I saw her truly, really mad, but I didn’t made much of it, because I had already forgiven Gemma, and a bad moment was a just a bad moment, not something to hold onto in the years to come, you know? And I know it’s not nearly the same thing, and I barely know what’s the point of telling you this, or do I know how it is to be the older brother, the responsible one, but. As your sister grows up she will find other things to be hurt because and scared of, not that this is a good thing, of course, it isn’t, like at all, but it’s how it is. And you remain her big brother. And no one need to tell me you are a loving one. She will grow, and so will you.”

Louis just blinks at him, and Harry blushes furiously.

“That made no sense,” he states, bashfully. “I keep saying stupid shit.”

“No, it did!” Louis claims. “And it wasn’t stupid; it was very sweet, actually. Thank you.”

He eyes him in such a way, and Harry just knows he means it. Louis isn’t being condescent, or mocking the way his wording works. He stands there, heart open, silently asking for a friend, and Harry is ready to give him anything he asks.

Harry’s sheet is empty. His mind is full. There’s ink on his fingers, but nothing on his paper.

 

**vi.**

_don't let them hit your face_

So early October Louis decides it’s time to forgive himself. He lights a cigarette, leaves the messages Zayn sent unattended, and thinks _you know what? It’s not my fault._

Feels good, and he walks into field feeling lighter and excited.

The lads teased him rentlessly about playing against his old school - about trying not cry or handing the ball to opposite players, as if Louis truly cared about anyone there. _If they knew about it they would kick me out, too,_ he concludes, keeping his lips tight.

He is a team player, though, is conviced of that, knows no other way of working if not in a group, so he takes his time wishing good luck to every one of the boys, even to Oli, with whom he had a little chat after discovering he makes fun of Harry's way of speaking when Niall isn't around.

Harry only laughed it off when Louis told him about it, though, said he was used to it, but Louis' blood remained on fire. It's hurtful, Louis can tell - Harry becomes turns into a hurt animal, laughter and kindness becoming his main defence as predators lurk in the dark, waiting to kill him off. Louis wishes he would bite back.

Oli accepts his kindest wishes coldly.

The night air is humid and the weather mild; the lights so intense he thinks he might go blind for a minute. The crowd is cheering loudly, and he reckons there's no feeling comparable to the one of being on field, feeling adrenaline starting to pump in his veins, of every sense of his body being aroused to a maximum.

He sees Niall walking forward, face focused and determined, haughty posture and blue armband in his arm. _This is his field,_ Louis realises, almost reverently. _He owns this ground._

Jack Williams meets him mid field, lean and pale, eyes Louis for a moment, then averts his gaze to Niall. Purporsefully adjusts the headband in his arm. It's red and over worn, and looked better in Louis' arm.

His sly smile reminds Louis of a snake - a self important, weak snake, but still a snake.

The referee throws a penny in the air, catching it again on the palm of his hand, reveals it to both of the captains - Niall has the ball at his feet, and then whistle blows, initiating the match.

When they reach the fifteen minutes break, Oli has a bleeding nose and the Rossi Secondary varsity team has two yellow cards. Playing agressive is Cowell's favorite tactic, and Louis wonders if he's the reason why.

He focuses on the strategy Jarvis is passing them as a nurse works on stopping Oli's nosebleed, shaking vain thoughts out of his head, leaving it for later. Wright is substitued for Pyle, Niall wipes sweat off his head, Gatorades are distributed, and they head back to the match.

So when Jack Williams starts to running into him purposely, he ignores at first and keeps playing, pretending he did not feel anything. Two pushs and an almost fall later, though, he haults and turns his head back to Jack so fast he hears the bones of his neck snap. _“What?”_

“Nothing.” Jack answers.

Louis sighs. “Stop bumping into me on purpose.” He says, and resumes running.

“I’m not bumping into you on purpose.”

“Great. Don’t trail after me, then.”

Niall murmurs a quick ‘ _calm down’_ as he runs past him. Louis takes on running again, feels at tug at his arm and _no. Just no._

He shouldn’t do it, but does it anyway, mostly because he’s a fool, remains a fucking fool, doesn’t care – his right fist hits him right on the eye, just so learn not to touch him. He’s fast, has always been fast, so he hits another on the nose, just so he learns not to touch him, feels the bone breaking and hot blood on his knuckles.

“Told you to stop, arsehole.” he says, and the judge is blowing his whistle, calling a stop at the match, and there’s a small hurricane forming at the center of the field.

“He was bumping into him on purpose!” he registers Niall’s voice, then, “where were you then?”

Stan is screaming something else, and Pyle is starting a fight, but the referee is raising him a red card, so leaves the field, hoping Harry is not there, thanking God Johannah isn’t.

Niall is still arging with about referee when he heads to the locker room. (The King George IV's varsity team takes the victory.)

**....**

Louis is not a fighter. Never has been.

He finds his knuckles swollen the next morning. Hides them under the table during breakfast, and Daisy is the only one to notice, but she doesn’t make much of it.

Harry notices, though, and takes Louis’ hand beetween his own after the first bell rings and hallway starts to quickly empty, thumb finger caressing the reddened skin softly.

Louis eyes him; Harry only smiles. “Been punching many people?”

“Just one.”

“I see.”

“Do you always do this?”

Harry snaps gum in his mouth. “Is this inadequate?”

“Not really.”

Harry smiles again, dimples deep and beautiful, holding Louis’ palm open. “I can read hands, you know.”

“Really? What does mine say?”

“This line... this one line here, you see? It says you’re going to show up at Niall’s Halloween party, that he will throw in... well, Halloween.”

Louis throws his head back in laughter. “And the others?”

“Uhm, ok. This one... you’re fitting for leadership. And this one says... you’re... an Aries?”

“I’m an Aries?”

“Yeah.”

“And you are a farse,” Louis laughs. “I am actually a Capricorn.”

“Makes sense.” Harry giggles.

“What does that mean, Curly?”

“Nothing. It means nothing.” And then his smile strains a bit. “Will you get into trouble?”

“No. I just closed the car’s door on my own hand accidentally. Didn’t punched anyone.”

Harry frowns. “I was there, Louis.”

“Well.”

“And even if I wasn’t, you are the entire school’s favorite subject right now, you know.”

Louis sighs. “Didn’t want you to see it.”

“Why? I hardly fainted.”

Louis just shrughs.

“The boys are backing me up, but Jarvis was so mad. Rightfully so.” He says. “ I am keeping my position on the team, though; on a life thread, but I am.”

Harry nods.

“Was that the boy you talked about?”

“Yes.”

Harry pouts.

“He’s an arsehole.” He says, conclusively.

“Yes, he is.”

Harry’s thumb ghosts over Louis’ knuckles again, brow still furrowed. He looks around, takes in the other three students engaged in conversation still on the room, confides a kiss to his fingertips and touches the reddened skin. Louis loses his air; onders how soft Harry’s luscious mouth would feel like on his. “Consider them kissed better.”

At that, Harry gets up quickly, gathering his books in hands, and Louis swears there’s a faint hint of red over his cheeks. “Don’t let them hit your face.”

And then he leaves.

Louis thinks about Harry’s lips for the entire weekend.

**....**

" _Louis, Louis, Louis,_ " Oli singsongs, throwing a pale, freckled arm around his shoulders, reeking like cheap alcohol. "Has he allured you yet? Our favorite player."

Louis looks him at him bewildered, wondering when Oli got the permission to touch him.

" _Excuse me?_ The fuck you on about, Wright?"

"Harry, _duh_ , who else?" he answers, setting a hand against his belly and dancing by himself without actually moving from the same spot, his speech slurred and tone condescent, as if his absurd answer was the most obvious think in the world.

Louis eyes where Harry is settled against a booth, playing a game of Scrabble against Perrie Edwards cheerfully.

"I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt, Oli," Louis says, slowly but surely, rage starting to boil in his blood. "and assume this bullshit is just the alcohol talking."

"Uh, uh, it isn't, and you can ask anyone in this team, and I'm just giving you a head's up because I see you both at lunch, all intimate and shit, and I  _actually_ want us to be friends after all." he says, Louis knuckles clenching around his bottle of beer. "Sing with me; _there he comes, you better watch your ste- "_

"Can you shut the fuck up, _for the love of God,_ before I break this bottle on your head?" Louis hisses angrily, only not doing as said because it's their first team celebration after the disastrous Rossi match, and he truly wants his teamates to know he was on the same page as them.

Niall looks up from where he is chatting Melissa Whitelaw, the head girl up, brow furrowed in concern as he stares at them. 

"All good with ya both?"

"Not really," Louis giggles in answer. "Oli here was presenting a bad rendition of _Femme Fatale_ and I _had_ to make him stop, you know. Desperate measures."

Niall guffaws, raising his glass of beer in approval before settling his attention back on Melissa.

"Next time I will snitch on you, you fucking piece of shit," he whispers before walking off and joining Harry and Perrie on the corner.

And he knows he shouldn't let such words crawl under his skin, but they do, eating on his flesh for the rest of the week. Louis asks Perrie what do they mean, but all she does is to stare at him with her lips tight and tilted down.

"Not my story to tell," she answers. "Something you gonna hear sooner or later, but I suggest you hear from _him."_

But Louis doesn't asks, reckoning that if Harry has yet to tell him it's because he has a reason not to, settling instead to simply going to the riverbank and let the time pass as it pleases, trying to keep his intrigue at bay.

"What's up with you?" Harry asks, though, sensing something as Louis draws on the earth with a stick. "You seem distant."

"Just thinking."

" 'bout what?"

"Nothing important," he answers.

Harry eyes him from where he is sitting under the willow, a book proped on his lap. "If it wasn't important then you wouldn't be thinking about it."

"This has no logic. I think about many things."

"There's actually a lot of logic in it, Lou."

Louis resumes his activity, a sun and a moon and badly drawn stars surging on the ground. "If I asked you something would you be mad with me?" he finally asks.

"No. What is it?"

"When we were celebrating the last match, Oli said some shit - some ridiculous shit, _God,_  he sounded so pathetic - but it kind of stuck in my head, and not that I believe him, I truly don't believe him - "

"I get it." Harry interrupts. "I know what you're talking about."

"Do you?"

"Took you long enough," Harry says. "to hear it."

When Louis whips his head up again, what he sees is heart crushing: a somber look has set over Harry's face, distress painting his features. His mouth has tilted down, his shoulders hunched, and his eyes become fixed over the book on his lap. The shift is his posture is so sudden, so _defensive_  that Louis has the image of a doe imprinted in his mind again; it crushes him - the thought of Harry thinking him as a predator, and yet he keeps safe distance a few feet away from the other boy.

"I actually don't know, I don't know what exactly he was talking about, Haz." Louis explains slowly. "But you don't have to tell me. It's okay."

Harry shakes his head, eyes still cast down. "No, I want to - want to tell you."

Louis only nods, throwing the stick on the ground, patiently waiting for Harry to go on.

"Two years ago, when Mrs.Trancoso had her baby and was in maternity leave we had this sub teacher, Ms. Flack and she wanted to sleep with me. I didn't realised it at the time, but I guess is kind of obvious now. _Fuck,_ it's _so_ obvious." He lets out a dry chuckle, and Louis' starts twisting his own hand's fingers in tense anticipation. "She would get easy on me, you know, give me good grades even though I suck at maths. And I guess everyone kind of realised before I did, you know, because Grimmy, this guy from senior year who I was kind of friends with, he said that I - that I should as well, because she was pretty, and that I should make her take easy on his grades as well."

"Did you, you know..." Louis drawls out carefully, heart beating wildly in his chest.

" _No!"_ Harry says pointedly. "No, I didn't. But, uhm, his grades got better, and I guess he did it in his own merit, I don't know, but everyone though it was because of me and yeah, some rumours started going around. I didn't much made of it because I knew it wasn't true and that was more than enough for me and, besides that, gossip eventual dies down. But it kind of spinned out of control, because I guess she thought I also wanted to sleep with her? I don't know. I was just trying to be nice. Thought if treated her as a friend she would get the memo that I wasn't interested. But I guess she got it wrong because next thing I know she broke her engagement and yeah. I got a bit a fame. Had no idea what to do. It got so bad Arnold heard about it and in the next day there's a new Maths teacher. Guess the headmaster thought I slept with her, too."

"I'm so sorry," Louis says, feeling crushed, imagining an overly innocent, sweet sixteen years old Harry absolutely lost in doubt of what to do. The scenario, both in it's during and past events, it's disgusting - Louis wishes he could sew all those lips shut, blocking them of hurting Harry with their malicious words; wishes he could stop Ms Flack of ever crossing his way. "I truly am."

Harry only nods, shrugging. "It's all over now. Water under the bridge."

"I'm so sorry they still say all that shit about you."

Harry smiles at him, albeit if a bit teary eyed. "I just wish they would let it go, you know?" he answers, deep voice sounding strained.  "Because I don't think it's funny."

Louis remains silente, unsure of what to say, eyes set on Harry's face.

"Will you stop being my friend?" Harry asks, then, voice small and fragile.

"Love, why would I?"

"Dunno. Some people stopped wanting to associate themselves with me."

"They are stupid." Louis breathes out passionately. "I have never met someone as gentle and with such an untainted nature as you."

Harry scoffs. " _Please."_

"I mean it." Louis says sincerely, plopping down beside him on the blanket.

 "Did you... did you told this to your parents?" he asks carefully.

"No."

"Harry, listen, you have to -"

"Please _don't,"_ Harry bemoans, shuffling slightly away from Louis. "I hear this enough from Niall already. Don't need you to pester me too."

"Do any have any idea how serious this is, Haz?"

" _I do_!" Harry snaps, face stormy. "Better than anyone, by the way."

Louis is taken aback, taking in Harry's distressed expression and tears brimmed eyes, suddenly feeling guilty, the retort that had formed on the tip of his tongue dying down.

"That was out of line. I'm sorry." he says after a long moment of silence. "It's not my place to tell you what to do."

Harry nods, smiling tightly. "Shouldn't have screamed at you. Sorry."

"It's okay."

Harry surges forward and hides his face on the crook of his neck. There's a shy sniffle, and then something wet hits Louis' skin, so he throws an arm around Harry's shoulders, bringing him closer, trying to keep him safe.

"Sorry," Harry murmurs, letting out a wet laugh. "I keep crying on you."

"It's okay. You can cry."

"I don't want to cry anymore. Keep crying over the same things."

Louis places a kiss on the crown of Harry's head.

"Can I ask why you didn't told your mum?"

"Was ashamed."

"Are you still ashamed?"

"Kind of. And it's been so long." Harry sighs, pressing his face further on Louis' neck. "Don't wanna talk about it anymore."

Louis doesn't wants to let it go. After a moment, though, he takes on fickling Harry's ear, watching the other boy squirm and giggle. "What do you want to talk about now?"

he questions.

"Can you read to me?"

"Of course."

  **....**

That night Louis' localizes Caroline Flack's facebook page, stares at her face for ten minutes, and then closes it.

 

  **Halloween**

**vii.**

_i adore you_

Harry takes another sip of the transparent, tangent drink Niall offered him. He doesn't recall it’s name, but knows there’s some vodka in it warming him up, making his head fuzzy enough to create him some buzz but no nausea.

He can’t dance or pretend he can, so he just lays against the Niall’s living room wall, paying no attention what Melly is saying, watching as Louis laughs at Stan Lucas, who is halfway into unconsciousness, for spilling something on the couch Harry knows Niall’s mum loves.

Oh, well. He said a house party was no good idea.

Lips, waist, thighs, a loud, sweet laughter – Harry can appreciate pretty thing when he sees them. Louis is, certainly, one of them.

He takes  another sip of his drink quietly, averting his gaze away from Louis.

“You know,” he says to Melissa. “Niall won’t stop talking about you.”

“Really?”

“Uh huh.”

“Good to know.”

He sees Louis get up from the couch with the side of his eyes. He keeps a smile to himself.

“Why don’t you go looking for him, now?”

Melissa raises a perfectly groomed eyebrow. “You’re not very swift, you know. Like, at all.”

She laughs, though, turning her back and leaving, and then Louis takes Harry’s drink from his hand, taking a sip.

“Hey, you.”

Louis smiles. “Hello. Having a fun night?”

“Well, I had. It’s pretty much over by now, innit?”

“Indeed is.” Louis sets the drink over the oak small table. “Still up for a dance, though."

"Really?" Harry answers, playing dumb.

"Come on, Curly," Louis bemoans, pulling at Harry's arm. "dance with me.”

Harry laughs. “I can’t dance.”

“Neither can I.” he keeps pulling at Harry's hand. “come on.”

Harry looks around the half dozen people in the room.

“Unless you feel unconfortable.” Louis adds quickly.

Harry answers by rolling him over, hugging Louis from behind, his breath in the smaller boy’s neck. “I don’t.”

"Good."

They sway in silence, off tempo, feeling warm and blissful. A song Harry doesn't knows plays sofly on the background, and there's loud laughter, the smell of alcohol and a warm, lovely body in his arms.

“Do you feel good?” Louis asks mindlessly. “like this.”

“Yeah.”

Louis throws his head behind, resting it in Harry’s shoulders. “It feels nice," he murmurs, closing his eyes.

“It does.” _Can I keep you?_

Cara eyes them for a moment from her place in the ground, then averts her eyes. Harry knows she doesn't mind.

Harry is conscious of the spot Louis' bum touches his crotch, swaying from side to side, but can't be bothered to change their stance. He takes in the smell of Louis' hair, the texture of his skin, tries to find an exact name for the feeling that blooms inside his chest.

“i should’ve been home by now.” Louis mumbles but making no move, instead tightening the hold of Harry's arms around him.

“Crash here." Harry answers. "Niall won’t mind.”

Louis opens his eyes, shaking his head intensely, suddently uptight.

“No, no. I truly have to go. " he says. "Me mum has an early shift, I have to look after my sisters.”

“I see. Do you need a ride?”

“No, I’m good. I brought my car.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, but thanks.” Louis answers. “You’re so good."

There’s a moment of silence, and then Harry kisses the top of Louis’ head. “This okay?”

“Yeah.”

And then he kisses again, this time just behind his ear. Louis sighs, shaking his head again.  “Goodnight, Hazza."

“Goodnight.”

Louis squeezes Harry's wrist where it rests over his belly before releasing it tenderly and untangling himself from the other boy's arms, seeming to be in a hurry.

Harry watches him leave.

**.....**

Louis thinks about Harry wearing nothing but a silk shirt, sometimes, purple marks all over his thighs where Louis' mouth touched.

**....**

The front door bell rings three days into December. “Go answer the door,” he tells Lottie.

She snickers, the telly's remote control still in her hands.

“What do I gain with that?”

“I won’t tell on you to mother, how about that? _Go open the door_.”

He takes the remote and flickers though the channels, looking over his shoulder as Lottie comes back a minute later. “It’s for you.”

“Who is there?”

“A boy I have never seen before.”

Louis pushes himself off the couch, walking over to the front door. Harry stands in front of the stairs, looking around in his best coat, a beanie pushed over his brown curls. He looks slightly wet, pretty as a picture.

“Oh." Louis huffs. "Hi.”

“Hi." Harry offers him a dimpled smile. "Surprised?”

“Uhm, yes, a bit.”

Harry nods, looking nervous. “Do you have a moment?" he asks. "To talk. It’s important.”

“Yes, of course.” Louis pauses for a instant, unsure of what to do. “Uhm, how rude of me. Do you accept something to drink?”

“No, thank you.”

So they climb the stairs, and Louis opens the door to his room, feeling mortified at it's state - there’s clothing on a pile on the floor, but Harry doesn’t seem to mind before falling horizontally on his back in Louis’ bed, long legs hanging out of the edge.

(A inappropiate scenario surges in Louis’ head; he blurs it away.)

“So...” he starts, sitting besides Harry on the bed. “Is this about your parents? Is everything alright?”

“As alright as it always is.” Harry answers. “Not what I came here for, though.”

“No?”

“No.”

“What happened?”

Harry rolls until he’s now settled on his belly. “That night. At Niall’s party, you ran away from me.”

"No, I didn't," Louis lies, feeling his cheeks immediately heating.

"Please, Lou, never thought you were one of those who find me slow," Harry rolls his eyes. "Did I scared you?"

Louis tone is careful as he speaks again. “We only danced. Nothing scary about that.”

Harry sits down now, crossing his legs in front of his body, his eyes boring into Louis’.

“Was that only a dance to you?”

“No,” He admits, heart beating wildly. “Was it to you?”

“No. I cannot stop thinking about it, or about you.” Harry blutters out, starting to analyze his own hands. "And I know you just came out of a relationshi- "

Louis takes a deep breath, mind going fuzzy. “Can I kiss you?” he blurts out.

Harry stares at him, eyes huge and cheeks flushed. “You _should._ ” 

And so he does. Louis' eyes fall shut when he feels the soft solidity of Harry's pink, plush lips touching onto his. Butterflies fly free around his stomach, and he is raptured, enthralled over a sweet, chaste kiss. Harry tastes like cherry and mint, like purity and infinite, his mouth so warm and soft Louis urges to stay attached to it until the end of times.

Harry smiles at him softly when they break apart. "Are you sure of what you're doing?"

"No. Are you?"

Harry giggles.

"No."

Louis kisses him again. “I adore you.” He says, just because.

  **....**

"Where are you and Louis going without me?"

Harry stares at Niall’s curious, accusatory, slightly hurt face besides his locker door.

"Nowhere," he blurts out. "I'm not going anywhere with Louis."

Niall scoffs.

" _Please,_ " he says. "You disappear. He disappears at the same time. You appear. He appears at the same time. One plus one? Two. _Actually,_ the real question is: why am I not going with you both?"

Harry closes his locker door shut, cluching his books to his chest. "Because we don't want you there," he answers before walking away.

Niall takes on following him, booming a loud crackle of a laughter.

" _You cunt!_ I'm your best friend! Either I'm being substitued, which is not realistic, considering I'm me, or..." he stops Harry by the shoulders, staring into his eyes, and starts whispering. "...you're fucking."

Niall lets out a even louder laughter at Harry's unimpressed stare. "I knew it! _I knew it!"_

"Stop being scandalous," Harry retorts. " _Christ."_

"When were you going to tell me? Were you even going to tell me?"

"I _was_ going to tell you, very soon, actually. And we are not fucking."

Niall starts laughing again. "Yet."

**....**

Louis expects some kind of magical shift on his eighteenth birthday, a path traced on the starts that indicates what turn should his life take. Nothing happens, as expected.

His father spends a few days with them, though, and they have a proper lad's day, which is good. He gains new shoes from his sisters, a vintage Nintendo ES from his parents, hugs from his friends, and a _Postmail_ copy from Harry - Louis goes to ask him if he truly thinks he’s funny until he notices the sentences and unfinished poetry Harry wrote in the blank spaces of the pages, so he just kisses him instead.

**January**

**viii.**

_time_

 

Harry takes on complaining of the cigarette's taste when they makeout in one of the boys’ bathroom stalls. “Keep your hands off me, then.” Louis asnwers, opening the door to the stall, checking for any boys before walking to the mirror perched over the large sink.

Harry trails after him, lips swollen and curls messy, propping his bum in the sink as he watches Louis trying to get his hair in place again. “Stop smoking as my birthday gift.”

“No.”

“No?” Harry parrots, sucking under Louis’ chin.

“I won’t manage to stop til your birthday. And besides that, I’ve been smoking less already, so it’s not like it’s something for _you._ ”

Harry smiles. “That’s nice. Give me a pair of boots, then, and give me a kiss now.”

The door to the bathroom opens, Ed Sheeran walking in, already opening his zipper down. “Hey.” he greets.

“Hey.” They answer in unisson.

“Kiss me,” Harry whispers. “He won’t mind.”

“I know he won’t,” He answers, finish fixing his fringe. “But I don’t feel like doing it while he has his hand in his cock, peeing a few meters away from me. It does kill the mood.”

Harry chuckles, wetting a hand and patting his hair, getting his curls in order. They look messy and a bit shapeless, and Louis makes a mental note to not pull them so much next time.

“Gonna eat something before lunchtime is over,” Louis announces. “ 'm starving. You coming?”

“In a minute. Let me finish my hair first. Keep me a spot.”

He watches Louis go, the bathroom door clinking shut, barely realising Ed came to stand at his side.

“Man, _oh man_.”

“What?”

“I wasn’t aware of this.”

“This what?”

Ed rolls his eyes. “This. That. You and Tomlinson.”

“You do have a great ear,” Harry notices. “and also a lot of balls for being so rude.”

Ed shrughs. “You were stage whispering and giggling. If I were you both, I would work on my discreetion if I don’t want to get caught.”

A bell rings in Harry’s head. Getting caught just like a kid stealing cookies before dinner – hiding out, in fear of punishment. And Harry doesn’t want the entire school's bodyto know about his sexuality before his mum does, is the thing, and Louis kind of just came out of a relationship and Harry doesn't wants him to deal with _fame_ just yet and they like to just to be.  “It’s not like it’s some dirty secret, you know.” He barrels defensively. “We just want to keep on our own, and we can go around snogging in the hallway anyway. So, like, stay quiet.”

“Wouldn’t tell anyone.”

“I know. I’m just stressing this out.”

“Would you be mad with me if asked you something?”

 _Probably,_ Harry thinks, eyeing the ginger boy in the mirror. “Spit it out and we will see.”

“I’ve heard some things about him, H. You need to make sure he’s a nice guy.”

Harry sighs, knows Ed means well, lets it slide.  “He is,” he anwers. “there’s a lot of chit chatter out there. And it’s not like we’re that serious. He heard a lot about me, too.”

Ed stays silent for a moment.

"I'm sorry this still affects you, Haz."

"Yeah, me too."

Ed only nods. "Does Niall know?”

“Uh huh.”

“Keep your eyes open, then. We both know his historic.”

Harry snorts, slapping Ed behind the head playfully. “It’s been two years, Edward. Get over it.”

**....**

Louis is parking in the curb in front of his house when he sees the light to Liam’s bedroom on, taking a minute while locking the car just staring at it.

He need to talk to him. Feels like they’ve barely been in touch, even though they went to the movies with Sophia, Eleanor and Perrie just the past weekend. _We need to have a long, good talk,_ he concludes, going up the steps of his own front porch. _Just like we did before._

He need to feel like he’s best friend it’s still there, that they still have each other’s back even after the turmoil of the past months. _I’m going to tell him about Harry,_ he decides, _about Zayn’s texts, about everything._

“Mum?” he calls, throwing his bag on the couch, where Lottie lays swapping channels iddly. “Mum?”

“Here!” She anwers, and he walks into the kitchen, feeling the smell of beans, where she cuts vegetables. “What’s it, love? How was practice?”

“Good,” he answers. “just to tell you I will go to Liam’s and might take a while.”

She eyes him up down, eyebrow raised. “Like this?”

“Yeah.”

“Go take a bath and take this dirty kit off for Christ’s sake, Louis, or I won’t let you out of this house. And get back to dinner.”

“Okay,” he answers, taking his shirt off. “What’s there to eat? Smells good.”

She just eyes him for a moment, lips pursed. “When will I meet him? Will I ever meet him at all?”

“Who?”

She just raises her finger, touching a spot under her own chin, laughing. “It’s fading, but it’s there.”

“ _Oh, no_.”

She goes back to the vegetables, mischievous smirk on her face.

“Please,” he bemoans. “ _don’t.”_

“Use protection,” she says finally. “And tell Lottie to get up and make some juice.”

“Is that all?”

“Say to Karen I will take the day off tomorrow and would love to have a chat.” She says, disposing small onion squares in a boiling pan. “You can go, now.”

Karen opens the door when he knocks, face smiley and warm. “Louis, darling! Haven’t seen you in a while. Come in.”

“Hello, Mrs. Payne,” he greets. “Is Liam home?”

“Of course. He’s in his room with Sophia.”

“Oh.” He feels his excitement sizzle down a bit inside him. “I think it’s better if I come back later, then.”

“Please, Lou, it’s not like they are doing anything. Not under my roof.” She laughs. “By all means, go ahead. Should I put a plate for you?”

“No, thanks,” he anwers. “I will have dinner at home. By the way, mum will have at day off tomorrow, and she said you should pass by so you can talk.”

He rasps at Liam’s door shyly. “Liam? It’s me. Can I come in?”

“Yeah,” he answers.

Louis shoves his head inside the room shyly. “I could come back later.”

“We are not doing anything,” Sophia giggles. “and I’m already leaving, anyways.”

Louis stands at the door as she picks up he back and gives Liam a chaste goodbye kiss.

“I will walk you out.” Liam says. “Louis, just wait a bit.”

She extends a hand in the air. “I know the way out, love. See you tomorrow.” Walking past Louis, she drops a kiss at his cheek. “Bye, Lou. Do talk, boys.”

“Bye, Soph.” He answers, and they turns back to Liam. “So. I have a lot of things to talk to you about.”

Liam raises his eyebrows. “Surprising.”

Louis closes the door behind himself. “I know I haven’t been the best of friends.”

“I understand you needed some time, Lou. It’s okay.”

“No, I must say this,” Louis retorts. “Because you’ve been so compreensive; and I feel like I’m not being fair to you.”

“Louis.” Liam says gravely. “It’s okay. It truly isn’t the best of situations, but it’s okay. And I have to talk a few things to you, too. One, actually.”

Louis pauses for a moment, coming to sit down on the edge of Liam’s bed.

“You first.” Liam says.

Louis pulls at a loose thread of Liam’s bedding. “I’m seeing a boy.” he says, feeling terribly shy. “And I feel like you need to know it.”

“Oh. Since when?”

“September, kind of. Oficially December.”

Liam hums. “Since September?” he asks, and Louis can hear the unspeaken _why didn’t you told me before?_ he knows Liam would never actually voice.

“I know I should’ve told you sooner,” he clears up, apologetically. “I don’t want you to think I’m keeping things for you on purpose. It’s just that. I don’t know, exactly.”

“Lou, _it’s okay._ You are allowed to keep things to yourself.”

 _Thanks for telling me,_ Louis hears.

“He’s from my school,” he keeps saying. “He is so...! So pretty and gentle. And smart. I could hear him talk about anything for ages.”

 _(Or talk about him for ages,_ he realises.)

“But does he has a name?”

Louis scoffs. “ His name’s Harry,” he answers. “I was about to tell you.”

“Sure.” Liam drawls, laughing. “Are you guys serious?”

“What does it mean?”

“Please. You know what it means.”

He shrughs. “Nor really, no, I guess.”

“Right.” He says flatly. “You like him?”

“I am fond of him, yes.”

“On a scale of ten - ”

“ _Liam.”_

“Right. I’m happy for you.” Liam smiles. “Is that all?”

Louis shakes his head. “No. Actually, um, Zayn reached out to me?”

Liam stays silent for a moment, straightening his posture, nodding slowly. “Well. That’s what I wanted to talk to you.”

Louis eyes him for a second before proceeding. “He talked to you?”

“You know we have kept touch.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that. He asked you to convince me, didn’t him?”

“No, he didn’t. You know he’s not like that.“ Liam answers. “He just mentioned contacting you and, you know, I think you are in a situation that shouldn’t even exist anymore.”

Louis licks his lips slowly, scratching his head. “Right. Payno. I don’t think you understand the situation, here. We didn’t have a simple argument. He fucked out to Australia without telling me, leaving me here to deal with a bunch of shit all alone.”

“He didn’t do that, you know. Fucked up Cowell’s car, I mean. It wasn’t him.”

"I do, but enough with that, Diplomat Payne.” Louis interrupts. “Let’s talk business.

“Diplomat Payne?”

“You’re here on a diplomatic mission today, aren’t you?” Louis spits.

Liam scoffs.

“You are so childish.” He says then, sounding frustated. “Let’s not do this. Let’s not fight, really, not when we just got in accord, I beg you.”

“I’m not fighting with you.” Louis answers. “But that’s not the point.”

“Then what’s the point?”

“The problem is I’m being pushed to do something I’m not sure I’m ready to.”

“You are not ready to forgive?” Liam asks rhetorically. “It’s okay. I’m not asking you to do it. I’m asking you to be fair, to be reasonable, to treat him the way you would like to be treated. Never pressured you to do anything, never would.”

Louis doesn’t answer.

Theres a bit of silence before Liam’s voice surges again softly. “Don’t want you to look back and realise you made mistakes that could be avoided, Lou. Bad feelings are not to kept forever. I’m just looking out for you.”

Louis nods, sighing. “I know.”

Liam knocks him in the arm playfully.

“Do we still have each other’s back?”

“Yes, we always we do.”

“Good.”

Liam plops in the bed, sighing. “You gonna stay over for dinner?”

“No, mum told me to go home.”

“Man. I’m _starving.”_

**....**

“Sometimes you just need to let people go,” Harry says, holding his fork up in the air. “A bruise doesn’t heal if your finger keeps poking it, you know?”

Louis scrunches his nose. “I think I do.”

“I need you to priorize yourself.” Harry says, shoving a piece of salad in his mouth.

“I do priorize myself.”

Harry shakes his head.

“You put everyone before you,” he explains. “even people who did you wrong.”

“Harry. You’re the celestial being here. I am not.”

Harry rolls his eyes dramatically. “I’m no angel. Stop saying I am. And do as it pleases you best. Just keep yourself in mind.”

“Ok, mummy.”

Harry extends a hand, touches Louis’ cheek softly. “Might come across as a shock,” he says. “But I do care about you and your well being.”

Louis leans into the touch. “You are so lovely.” he says, means it.

“ _Ew.”_ Niall scoffs.

**....**

_Give me some time_ **(Sent Fri 15:21 pm)**

**ix.**

_swallowing words while giving head_

 

“Who should we invite for your party?”

“I don’t want a party, mum.”

“But we should - ”

Gemma laughs over her plate of chicken tikka masala. “He doesn`t want a party, come on, leave him alone.”

“It’s his birthday.”

“And he doesn’t wants a party.”

“I’m still here,” Harry intervenes. “Stop talking as if I’m not.”

Anne huffs. “Eighteen years ago,” he says to Harry. “you were inside my belly.”

“He’s aware.” Gemma says, turning to Harry. “Last chance of visiting dad with your big sis. Take it or miss it. I’m leaving tomorrow.”

Anne huffs again.

“I’m staying.” He answers.

“Course you are.” His mum reiterates.

Gemma hums. “Well,” she says. “Happy anticipated birthday, brother.” And shoves a finger up his left nostril.

**....**

When the first of February comes around, Louis steals him away immediately following lunch, giggling and making up plans for the afternoon.

“What do you want to do?” He questions. “You can choose. I brought extra money.”

“Keep your money,” Harry answers. “I’m okay just spending time with you.”

“No movie, really? No fancy restaraunt?” he stands on his tiptoes. “Just me?

“Just you.” Harry answers, dropping a kiss on Louis’ lips.

Louis cleans his throath. “It's too cold for the riverbank, innit? Where do you want to go today?”

“We could go to my house,” Harry suggests. “hang out.”

“Right.” Louis raises his brow, smirking. _"Hang out.”_

“I mean it.”

“Okay, Harold. Lead the way.”

Twenty minutes later they are buzzed through the entrance to Harry’s building, and  Louis links their hands as they walk in and enter the lift, his eyes taking detail of everything around as Harry’s heat pulses stronger than before. Mr Thompson, the doorman, offers him a smile and a salute before the lift starts moving.

They take shoes and socks off at the door, stepping on cool tile. Harry watches as Louis’ fingers trace through photographies and books on the living room's table carefully, taking in the decor, registering every face and title. He’s so dainty, so lithe, moves with such delicacy and grace; Harry reckons he could just watch him for all of eternity.

“Your mum is so pretty. And you look the exact same as your sister.” Louis comments with a portrait in hands, and it takes Harry a seconds to register he has spoken. “Isn’t she visiting?”

“She went to see dad before heading back to London a few days ago, actually.”

Louis points at a fourth face in the picture. “Is this your dad?”

“Ah, no. This is Robin, my stepdad. My mum doesn’t keeps pictures of my dad.”

“You didn’t told me you had a stepdad.”

“Well, now you know.”

Louis puts the photo back in place, and closes the small distance to him, smiling. Taking Harry’s hand among his own, he says, “Cold hands.”

“Yeah.” Harry asserts, as Louis’ takes his hands to mouth level and starts blowing hot air.

For a motionless, sharp moment all air seems to be suspended in the room - Louis' eyes bore into his, blue and beautiful and lustful, taking Harry in, and it's too much; feels like too much.

Desire pumps into Harry's veins, taints his skin, dominates his mind. He's under Louis' mercy and control now, he realises, watching as the smaller boy leans forwards and touches his soft lips to the tip of his fingers, breath hot and humid and intense. Goosebumps break all over Harry's body, his heartbeating intensifying when Louis' opens his mouth and engulfs two of his fingers into the soft, warm cushion of his mouth, sharp teeth scraping lightly at his Harry's, facial bones proeminent as he hollows his cheeks and just  _sucks._

" _Louis,"_  Harry breathes, his cock twitching in his pants; Louis releases his fingers with a pop and a string of saliva over his lips and chin.

Harry's attacks his mouth then, and now he can barely think anymore, just urges for Louis, for his smell, for his touch, to feel him as close as possible. His hands find their way to the other boy's waist, feeling his shape, the solidity of his body. Louis bites and bruises, pulling on his bottom lip when they break for air, linking their lips again two seconds later.

Harry bites back, now, feeling vicious, retaliating in friendly competition. His hands find their way down to the swell of Louis' bum, squeezing tightly on the generous amount of muscle - Louis stifles a moan against his mouth, lazily moving his own hardness along Harry's thigh.

" _I need you,_ " he whispers breathlessly when they break apart. "want you so much, Haz."

Harry groans, tangling his hand in Louis hair, yanking it back gently, Louis complying to Harry's dominance, but setting his chin high up in the air, eyes fixed on the other boy's face.

Harry leans over, his tongue peeking out, urging to feel; he feels the contour of the boy's pink, kiss swollen lips, hoping to learn every detail he's made of, feeling the seams, paying extra care to the especially reddened points where his own teeth have bitten.

Louis' lips are shiny when he pulls back, his eyes glossy; a dainty hand makes it's way down his neck, pops the first button of Harry's rumpled school shirt open.

"Take me to your room," he orders, as Harry does as told, so willing to do anything Louis asks him to.

Louis tastes like peppermint and nicotine, feels like silk, smells like heaven,  moves with the quick daintiness of a summer breeze. His hands are both delicate and calloused where they carress Harry's face, the roughness of fighting making what was naturally tender rugged. Harry leans into his touch, eager, as they stand in the middle of his room, the blue walls eyeing them silently, storing their secrets.

His respiration remains quick, his heart rate desperate, and the desire in his veins remains crude, desperate - he wants Louis in every way and form, wants him to desire him too, wants Louis to look at his body and appreciate what he sees, urging with the need to kiss and touch.

Insecurity starts to hover over him, the fear of failure taking over his mind, sending jitters all over his body. _Do not push him away,_  he thinks. _Do not let him go._

Louis eyes him knowingly, experienced. "You know what's about to happen here, right, love?"

 _Love_ makes Harry's cock twitch again, so hard it's on the border to painful. "Yes," he answers, "I know."

"Did you... have you ever been with someone this way before?" Louis asks again, almost shyly.

"Not all the way." Harry answers, already feeling so vulnerable, so bare.

There's a red blush all over Louis' cheeks and nose, and he lips are still swollen, Harry looks down and peaks a tent in his bulge, urges to touch. Reckons Louis has never looked so beautiful as he does now - expression unbashedly open and eyes filled with want focused solely on Harry's face.

"Are you sure you want to do this? With me?"

There have been others. Older, younger, friends of friends, fools in love, drunkards in parties, boys and girls and people who didn't indentified with neither. One had his unexperienced lips wrapped around him, even, some simply kissed him, some he turned down, but none of them felt right, none of them were _the one._

It should've been a tricky, complicated, water shredding question, but there was no doubt in Harry's mind. He wonders if it should really feel this _easy,_  this _right_  - here he is, ready to take Louis in the most intimate way two bodies possibly can,  and it scares him, the grandiouse of it stucks him with awe, and yet he has no seconds thoughts.

Harry wants him; wants him as never wanted anyone before. Wants Louis, Louis only.

" _Yes"_ , he answers, lifting his hands to open the buttons of Louis' white shirt. "Yes, I do, no one is as perfect as you."

" _Harry..."_

"You will take care of me," Harry blutters out sincerely. "I know."

Louis kisses him again, his hands finally finding Harry's neck and chest and the zipper of his pants. He pulls it open just as Harry pushes his shirt off his shoulders, exposing warm, smooth skin, tight muscles and small waist.

Harry touches a finger to Louis sharp collarbone, feeling the bone, urging to explore; Louis hisses as Harry starts playing with a hard, puckered nipple, breath hitching.

"So pretty, Lou," Harry mumbles, before surging forward and taking one in his mouth.  _So pretty for me._

Louis inhales sharply, tangling his fingers in Harry's hair, pulling slightly. " _Fuck,_ " He moans. " _Yeah_ , _baby_ , like that."

Harry keeps trailing down Louis' abs, leaving a trail of spit behind. He nuzzles on the soft, fine brown hair under Louis' navel that follows down and disappears, hidden under the prison of his pants. He drops a kiss over the boy´s hard on, carressing it over the cloth - his pants are high and loud, the tug on his hair turning firmer, stronger, and Harry has never felt so overwhelmed.

"Can I?" He asks timidly, fingers settled on the button of Louis' trousers.

Louis nods, vividly, eyes trained on Harry's face, his left thumb caressing the skin of his cheekbone softly, _carefully_ , right hand still set in his hair. "Yes."

Harry tugs on the trousers' waistband, tugging it down, bringing Louis'  black boxers together with it. Harry's breath stutters when Louis' cock springs free, so hard it curls into his belly, blue vein pulsating angrily. _I did this_ , he realises with a touch of pride, licking his lips hungrily, _I did this to him._

His thighs are firm and the colour of bronze; his hips round, his arse sinful. He's stands there, naked and exposed for Harry's eyes only, beautiful as no one else is, and Harry feels so happy he could die.

(He wants to see him writhing under him, crying of pleasure, begging for Harry's cock, always wanting _more and more and more,_ absolutely ruined, tainted with Harry's cum.)

Harry leans over and kisses the tip softly, almost reverently, feeling Louis' hand pull his head back softly.

"You don't have to, love," he says. "It's okay."

"I want to," he anwers, before sagging forward and take him on his mouth at once. It's too fast, and tears form in his eyes, but he manages it, going crazy with the need to impress, to pleasure.

He hears Louis' loud gasp, knows he must be doing something right; bobs his head up and down, like he had seen porn starts, tongue rolling and working as best as he can. He pulls off after a while, though, as he jaw aches - sits on his heels, wiping away the spit that ran down his chin with the sleeve of his blazer.

Louis sinks down to his height immediately, taking Harry's face between his hands and attacking his mouth hungrily, seeming  not to mind the spittle at all. "You are _amazing_ , so amazing, love," he says, tugging at Harry's blazer and going back to kiss him erratically. "Come on, get up. Wanna make you feel good."

He offers Harry his hand, pulling them up to their feet. Louis sucks a bruise to his collarbone, pulling the blazer off his shoulders, and working on undoing the shirt's buttons, skilled fingers doing their job with agility. "Take off your clothes," he mumbles, a touch of desperation in his voice, face buried in Harry's neck. "need to see you."

Harry lets his trousers fall in a puddle around his feet, Louis pulling his briefs down mid thigh with ease, wrapping his hand about his cock.

" _Fuck,_ you're huge," Louis says, sucking another bruising while pumping Harry's cock lazily. It's a tad too dry, but his eyes rolls to the bad of head anyways, a soft moan leaving his mouth. "Look at you, baby."

"Want you so bad," Harry answers, looking for his lips again, body consummed with want.

Louis' hand leaves his penis, his danty fingers ghosting over his pubes, up to his navel and over the dip of his stomach, settling over the left side of Harry's chest, feeling his desperate heartbeats.

"Nervous?" he asks, tone soft and the sweetest of smiles plastered on his face, delicate features filled with care. Something blooms inside of Harry as he stares back a him; a flutter on his belly - _I adore you._

 _"_ A bit," he answers.

Louis nods, linking their hands together. "If by any means you want to stop, just tell me, and we will. Okay?"

"Yeah."

"Good." Louis says, turning around and pulling Harry towards the bed, _Harry's bed -_ he has dimples at the end of his back, Harry notices.

Louis springs his hand free when they reach the foot of the bed, climbing it and setting himself in the middle of the yellow bedding, naked and glorious - and what a vision does he makes.

 _Poetry_ , Harry thinks, allured.

The curve of his waist, the delicate skin of his hips, the way his hair falls over his eyes. His golden skin already shimmering with sweat; the warmth his body irratiates, his chest heaving up and down, cheeks flushed; the way he's looking at Harry as if there's no one else in the world; the way he simply exists - solid, living, breathing poetry.

"How do you want this?" Louis asks, then, propped on his elbows, eyes dark and cock leaking pre come.

Harry fiddles with his own fingers.

"Can I... can I have you?" he asks, feeling demure.

Louis spreads his tanned legs further, opening his arms. "Come here."

Harry crawls up the bed, filling his body between his legs, careful to not crush him. Their cocks rub together, and they both gasp soflty, limbs heavy with want. Louis sets both hands on Harry's neck and raising his head and kissing him sweetly, chaste, before dropping another kiss at the tip of his nose.

Harry is so grateful it's him.

"Is your back okay like this?"

"Yeah."

"Ok." Louis says. "Condom and lube?"

Harry rushes to grab the small box he keeps in the bedside table, nimble fingers fishing out a condom and a few packets of lube.

Louis raises an eyebrow, chuckling. "You're quite prepared."

"These are from sex ed," he mutters. "I didn't brought you here with the sole intention - "

" _I know._ Would never think that, _know_ you're not like that. Was just kidding. _"_ Louis interrupts, taking Harry's hand. "Relax, love."

Harry nods, burying his face in the crook of Louis' neck, just needing to feel his smell of sweat and peppermint. He takes a big breath, leaving a kiss over one clavicle.

"Do you let me open you up?"

Louis sags against the matress, eyelashes fluttering and smile wickled. " _Please."_

He helps Harry drip lube over his fingers, nodding blissfully as Harry asks for permission to thrust the first one. It goes past the ring of muscle without much resistence, even as Harry feels Louis clenching around him. Harry kisses his shoulder.

"Second one," Louis demands.

He is met with more resistence this time, the tightness of Louis' hole refusing to stretch around his middle finger. He shoves it in slowly, knuckle by knuckle, until it is fully strained inside of Louis', his walls crushing.

He starts back and forth movements, then, satisfactory little gasps coming from the other boy's mouth. Harry leans down to cover Louis' mouth with his own, touching a rough, firm spot, and Louis lets out such an _obscene, beautiful_ sound Harry _has_ to listen to it again, rubbing the spot repeateadly.

" _Yes_ ," Louis pants. "Yeah, baby, _right there_. Put another, Haz, _please_ , come on."

Harry forces another finger inside, keeping up with the same movements, Louis moaning and writhing and panting. He swallows his words with a kiss, lips trailing over his chin and face and neck.

" _Stop, stop_ ," Louis says suddenly, grabbing hold of Harry's wrist, halting him.

 "Did I hurt you?" Harry asks nervously, relief washing all over him as Louis shakes his head negatively.

"Was about to come," he explains, giggling, shaky hand still on Harry's wrist. "come on, need you."

Harry kisses again, full of teeth and saliva, cleaning his fingers on the already ruined sheets. Louis takes on stroking his lenght slowly but firmly, and Harry groans out a low moan as his fingers try to fullfill the task of opening the condom's packet.

Louis takes it from his hands, ripping the plastic with sharp teeth, and Harry's cock pulses painfully when he rolls it over the oversensitive head and lenght. He aches for the contact, to be inside of Louis', to feel the pressure of his body's walls, to become one with him.

Louis slicks a generous amount of lube over Harry now, distributes some more to his entrance, adjusting himself better over the pillows. "Grab my legs," he says. "put the around your waist."

Harry does as told, keeping his hands on Louis' side, leaning down to kiss a nipple. " _So beautiful,"_ he murmurs, lips still touching the tanned skin.

"Know what do to, pretty boy?" Louis giggls, hands resting on Harry's forearms.

Harry kisses him again, erratically, posistioning his tip at Louis' entrance. "Can I?" he asks, voice rough and desperate, lips still resting over Louis'.

Louis nods frantically, eyes glossy and lustful, hands going up to grip at Harry's biceps, nails digging in. " _Please, please, please."_

Harry grabs the base of his own cock, pushing his lenght inside Louis' puckered hole. It's tight and resistent, and he tries to do it as delicately as he can, secretely cheering when the head goes in.

His breathing is already quickened, desperate, and Louis encourages him to push further, the tight hotness of his hole finally engulfing Harry to the base - Louis grimaces, face contorting, shutting his eyes tight.

"Was it too fast?" Harry questions, one hand carrresing Louis' side, worried.

"No, no it's okay," Louis huffs out. "It's just. You're big, _fuck,_  need to time to adjust."

Harry kisses him again, and Louis is now laughing a bit, rubbing their noses together when they break apart. "You can move now," he says.  " 'm ready."

Harry sets his clammy hands on Louis' narrow hips before giving a slow, experimental thrust; the pressure of Louis' walls tightening around his lenght crushing him, every sense of his body at maximum as he moves inside him, looking for that magical spot again.

Louis' mouth falls open, releasing sweet sounds to every roll of Harry's hips, crying out loud when Harry finally finds his prostate again; a hand finds it's way to one of Harry's, linking their fingers together.

Mouths clash against each other as Harry's hips picks up rhythm. "Doing so great, love," Louis says, whimpering under Harry's body. "Fucking me so good."

"Could come just from hearing your voice," Harry moans out, his mind euphoric. "Go insane just from seeing you be."

" _Shit,"_ Louis mewls in answers, tightening his hold on Harry's hand. " 'm not gonna last too long."

It only takes four more thrusts for Louis to spill out, coming in white spurts all over his belly and chest, legs on a death grip around Harry's waist. He kisses him, muffling his own cries. The clenching of Louis' walls around Harry's cock in more than enough to make him follow, coming inside the condom, toes curling as pleasure washes him in waves, body shaking and hair damp with sweat.

He collapses over Louis' body, both panting, limbs loose and spent, hands still linked together. Louis takes a deep breath, registering Harry's scent, kissing under his chin, so tender it's almost not there.

Harry pulls his now fully soft cock out, listening to Louis' slight hiss. Harry takes the condom off, knots and throws it in the bin besides the bed, registering to get rid of it later. His body falls down besides Louis', eyes closed in bliss. The sheets are damp and ruined, but neither of them particularly care about it.

"I'm glad it was you," he says, eyes still closed.

There's no answer for a while. Louis takes to drawing figure eights over Harry's chest finger dancing around his skin before his voice surges again, tenderly. "I'm glad you chose me, love."

  **....**  

Later, Harry sings to him softly. Louis’s eyelids droop, the sound lurring him to sleep. _He is holy, Louis thinks,_ head etched with sleep. _I hope he becomes home._

He falls asleep there, in the haven of Harry’ arms, feeling peaceful.

**....**

“The first boy I ever kissed,” Harry narrates, still naked and sweaty from lovemaking, his own blanket wrapped around his waist. “was also named Harry.”

The riverbank becomes forgotten for the following weeks, both of them preferring the sounds of skin on skin and the warm feel of each other bodies over the tree and the grass. Louis misses their spot, through, so he produces a wild, unattainable dream of fucking Harry under the weeping willow in the safety of his head – Harry laughs it off, but says he happily would if they could.

“He was from my church, in Cheshire.” Harry continues. “Harry Benedict. Soft lips, but too much spit.”

“A church boy?” Louis teases. “ _Such a minx.”_

Harry giggles, starts playing with Louis’ fingers mindlessly. “Kissed him behind the confessionary, just under the scrutiny of our Lord Jesus Christ. Felt like all the saints where looking directly at me through the entirety of the cult. It was actually kind of terrifying, and I was a tad paranoid, but I never regretted it. I was twelve, I guess.”

“Maybe that’s why you have a bad back. Divine punishment.”

“Yeah,” Harry chuckles. “That’s what they say. How about you?”

“The first boy I ever kissed was named Quentin,” Louis begins. “and it was on a party when I was thirteen during a spin the bottle game. He was cute, a couple years older. It was okay for a first kiss, let alone a spin the bottle one. And I guess I was the one with too much spit.”

“Ever kissed a Louis?”

“No,” Louis chuckles, moving foward to plant a kiss on Harry’s nose. “and I guess I missed all my chances now.”

 

**April**

**x**

_i blame you_

Louis rakes his fingers among Harry's chocolate curls mindlessly, his eyes fixed on his cellphone. Harry's head twitches in his lap, trying to adjust the position of his book better to the afternoon lighting; the sounds of a car’s brake makes a screeching sound on the street.

 _I’m in donny for a few days, wanna meet up and talk?_ **(Received Mon 5:45 pm, zain)**

Louis eyes Harry’s head in his lap, twitches a curl among his fingers.

 _When and where?_ **(Sent Mon 5:50 pm.)**

**....**

When Louis enters McDonalds Thursday night, hands in his jacket’s pocket, palms cold and a bit clammy, he looks for a head full of dark, straight hair, finding none.

“Lou! Here!”

Louis whips his head around so fast he thought he could hear his neck snap. Zayn’s leather clad figure sits on a table by the window, skinny as Louis remembers him to be, brown skin glowing with a stronger tan. He looks great.

“Your hair.” Louis says, approacing him, hands still in his pockets. “Where’s it?”

“I wanted to change a bit.” He answers, and Louis can tell he’s nervous under a layer of feigned confidence – brings a bit of satisfaction to his gut.

Louis drums his fingers on the table. “It looks nice.”

“Thank you. You look nice too.”

“Thank you.”

There's something so inherently _sad_ about _them_ , about it - to make dull, empty, small talk to someone he used to be so close with.

“So how are you doing?”

“I’m surviving.” Louis answers. “How’s Australia?”

“Great, but I’ve been thinking of coming back. I applied to Oxford.” Sounds more of question than anything. “I know it’s a long shot but, you know, I feel something in my guts.”

“No, I mean, by all means, go for it. Who knows.”

“Yeah. Aren’t you going to eat anything?”

“No, I’m not hungry.”

Zayn takes a gulp of his soda, large fries sitting untouched on the table. There’s a long, stetched moment of silence, so uncomfortable Louis feels tempted to just get up and leave.

He stays on his place, though, watching as Zayn scoffs and setshis cup on the table with a bang. “You know what, this is ridiculous.” He mumbles. “This is absurd.”

Louis takes a deep breath. “Why?”

“Please, Louis, you know why.” Zayn answers, sounding impatient. “We’re sitting here, talking as if we are just acquaintances, as if we don’t know each other _at all._ ”

_But I know you. I know everything about you. I know your sex laughter and the exact shape of your frame, the way you taste – I know your body and it’s ways. I do know you._

“I don’t know what kind of reception you expected, honestly.” Louis mumbles. “I _do_ feel like I don’t know you.”

“And that’s what we’re here for. To change this.” Zayn retorts. “You did, do, and always will occupy a very big place in my life. Need you to understand that.”

“ _Please._ ” Louis laughs humourlessly. “Come on, now, really?”

Zayn grimaces. “Really.” He cleans his throath. “Ok. Listen. If you don’t to do this, we don’t do it.”

Louis raises his hand in the air, indicating a truce, sighing. “No, no. I want to solve this. Us, I mean.”

Zayn smiles at him, strained and tight lipped. “Well. I want to apologise to you. For all.”

“I guess...” Louis begins, biting a nail. “Guess we just weren’t the best to each other after a while. And I’m sorry, too. For calling you a coward and for everything else. I haven’t been fair to you. Haven’t tried to see things from your view.”

The other boy nods. “Well, you should’ve talked to you. You were right about that. I just didn’t want... it’s not something easy to do, you know?”

“Yeah, guess so.”

Zayn picks on his fries. “You believe when I say I didn’t broke the windows of Cowell’s car, right? I mean, I would if I could,” he chuckles. “but I’m not a criminal.”

“Who wouldn’t?” Louis laughs dryly. “And I believe you.”

“Cowell knows it, you know.” He pops a fry in his mouth. “The truth. That’s why he didn’t went to police.”

“He told you so?”

“Course not. I’m talking out of my ass.” He pauses. “But it’s one of these things, you know? One plus one is two, and I’m convinced Jack has something on him. Or they are fucking.”

“ _Ew._ ”

“ _I know._ ”

“You should do something about it, Zayn,” Louis says after a second. “what they did to you was not fair.”

“Retaliation could make things worse, babe.” And then, as if reading Louis’ mind, he quickly adds: “Retaliation in _any form._ Leave it alone.”

“I wouldn’t leave alone.”

“What can I say?” Zayn shrughs. “If the world spinned to me the same way it does to you, I wouldn’t either.”

“So that’s how it’s going to be?”

“Unfortunately.” Zayn answers. "I take consolation on the fact that snakes enjoy eating each other."

There's a peaceful moment where they just stare at each other, no words being said.

“So where we stand now?”" Louis asks, finally.

“In a good place, I guess. Agree?”

“I guess.”

And then Zayn laughs. “You never apologised for anything in your life before. _Wow._ ”

“That’s not true,” Louis retorts. “and neither did you.”

“So how are you doing?” Zayn asks after a pause. “For real.”

“I’m doing good, really. I stopped smoking, even! No incidents so far. And you?”

He doesn’t need to know about the match happenings, Louis concludes. He’s doing good now.

Louis wonders for a moment if Zayn isn’t hiding something from him too, just like he is - suddenly feels the urge to coax all hidden information out of him, to make Zayn share all his newly adquired secrets. _Not the right time,_ he reminds himself, settling for what the other boy chooses to tell for now.

 **....**  

“I’m not going to tell you what to do.” Harry says, uncapping a brand new black nail polish. “Besides that, what is done is done.”

Louis eyes him over his book. “What does that mean?”

“It doesn't mean anything.” .

“ _Oh, man._ ” Louis chuckles. “Are you jealous?”

“I’m not jealous.” Harry answers, pout settled on his face. “Come over, do my right hand.”

“I’m doing homework.”

“You’re just killing time.” Harry extends his hand. “Come on.”

They stay quiet for a moment, just the sounds of the water flowing and the sun descending in the sky as Louis works. “Are you friends again?” Harry’s voice sounds, gently.

“I guess so.” Louis answers. “Kind of.”

“Well.” Harry says. “That’s nice, I guess.”

“It is.”

“Remember what I told you? About taking care of yourself first?”

“I do.”

“I hope you haven’t forgot it.”

Louis sighs.

“I didn’t. It’s just that. Two sides of a coin, you know?”

“Yeah.” Harry says. “Guess I’m being biased.”

Louis drops a kiss on his forehead. “You are the sweetest.”

Harry remains in silence for a moment, mouth opening and closing repeatedly.

"Sometimes I wonder..." he finally begins after a beat. "if you still wait for his return."

Louis head shoots up so quickly he feels dizzy for a moment, smugding nail polish all over Harry's fingers. " _No!"_

Harry looks at unfazed, an eyebrow arched. "You sure?"

"Not in that sense." Louis sighs. "He was my friend, you know? I just can't forget about him."

"Do you ever look at me and see him?"

Louis snarls, twitching his thin lips. "When I look at you, I see _you._ End of. What's with you today?"

Harry makes a face, pouting like a child, retraining his hand from Louis' lap. "I know I'm not your first. It bothers me."

"Why? You have me."

Harry shrughs. "Dunno."

Louis lets out a long sigh. "I don't know what to tell you besides that you don't remind me of him _at all_. That you're absolutely different than anyone I've met before that you're something else. You really are."

Harry returns his hand to Louis' lap after a moment.

“You smudged my nail polish.”  he complains, smiling with red splecked over his cheeks. “dumbass.”

“Well. So that’s how it is? I was going to invite you to meet my mother, but now I won’t anymore.”

**....**

Johannah prepares a two layers chocolate cake to greet Harry with, and Liam uses it as an excuse to come over _-_ _" I know it's not for me but I haven't eaten cake in ages, Ms. Poulston_ ", he said, sitting down to avaliate Harry for exactly one quarter of an hour before giving Louis his blessing no one ever asked, but it's grateful for anyways.

When Harry starts playing with the twins Louis thinks he's so happy he could explode.

**xi**

_bad habit_

Harry bits his nails, avoiding his mother’s eyes.

“We all know Harry is a good boy here at King George,” says headmaster Arnold. “and I feel that it’s the school’s responsability to warn you, Mrs Twist, that Harry’s abscence has been noticed during several diferent classes in days we know for sure he has showed up to school. And this behaviour has been going on for a while, apparently.”

 _It's this school responsability to kiss my feet_ , Harry thinks iddly.

Anne eyes him before looking at Arnold again, brow furrowed.

“Are you sure there isn’t a mistake, Mrs Arnold?”

“I’m afraid not. I couldn’t believe at first, either, but the teachers confirmed it, and even a few of his classmates.”

 _I’m right here,_ Harry thinks. _Right here._

“That’s not typical behaviour of him.”

“It seems like Harry discovered a bad habit, Mrs Twist, which is why we called you here.”

“Thanks, Lorena. I will make sure this doesn’t happens again.”

“I’m sure you will, Mrs Twist. But. It has come to my attention that Harry seems to be attached to the hip with this boy, Louis Tomlinson, and I think that maybe he is the reason –”

“This is ridiculous.” Harry interrupts. “I skipped them because I wanted to.”

Anne looks flabbergasted, and he knows it will get him into trouble, but can’t bring himself to care.

“Harry –”

“I am capable of my own decisions, for the record.“ He mumbles. “Let’s not blame anything on second parties, please, Louis especially.”

“Alright.” Nods Arnold, and then turns to Anne again. “I would keep an eye on this friendship anyways, though.”

“Thank you, Mr. Arnold. I will. Have a good day.”

Harry huffs as he follows Anne out of the office and into the parking lot. Can hear the sounds of the football practice, distant, itches to watch it.

Anne unlocks the car but doesn’t turns the engine on, her eyes piercing his face when he jumps into the passager’s seat. “Explain yourself.”

Harry shrughs. “My grades haven’t dropped at all, you know. I did nothing wrong.”

“Please, you know you did. Have you been doing drugs?”

“What? No!”

She nods. “What do you even do?”

“Nothing.” He answers.

Her stare is hard. “Well. I suggest you stop doing nothing and start going to class again. You won't get a sports scholarship anymore, you know. You can't be anything but the best.”

He nods, stressed out, turning to the window. She turns the engine on, kills it again.

“Harry?”

“Yes?”

“Is he just a friend? This boy.”

Harry considers lying for a moment, but doesn’t has the heart to. He shakes his head, watches something crumble in her expression. “No.”

There’s an extended moment of silence before she speaks again, and his eyes tingle.

“Why didn’t you told me?” She asks, then.

He sobs wetly. “I don’t know.”

“Why are you crying?”

“I don’t know, either.”

“Guess I always knew.” She sighs, her hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. “Did you told your father?”

“Please,” Harry sniffles. “don’t make this a competition.”

“We don’t compete.”

“Yes, you do. All the time. Don’t pretend you don’t.”

“ _Jesus.”_ She sighs again. “What’s his name again?”

“Louis.”

“Is Louis the first?”

“Kind of,” he answers. “I told Gemma.”

She nods, seeming bewildered. “I wish I was the first person... the person you trust the most. Wish you would feel free to tell me anything.”

“I do,” he answers. “I do trust you.”

She releases a sniff of his own. “For how long do you know this? That you like boys?”

“Since I was like fourteen, I guess.” he mumbles. "I don't have na exact label yet. Don't know if I would ever have."

Anne takes a deep breath, hands shaking slightly.

“You are my child,” she criess, sorrowful. “and I don’t know anything about you.”

 _There' so much you don't know,_ he thinks. _So much I have yet to tell._

“It’s not like that.” Harry says instead.

“That’s how it feels.”

“ _Mum_.”

She just shakes her head, takes another breath, and wipes at her eyes. “Darling. You know I love you no matter what, right?”

He nods, smiling at her. “I do.”

She smiles back. “Great. Let’s go... let’s go home.” 

**.....**

_was your mother called to school?_ , Harry texts Louis later that night, hair damp and door closed.  
**no** , Louis answers, adding a series of confused emojis. **all good?**

_they called mum. they know we skip class. guess we will have to lay off there for a bit_

**is she mad at u**

_a bit_

**sorry :(**

_my mum knows about us_

 

A minute goes by before his phone rings.

“Hi.” Harry answers. “Everything is okay. Don’t worry.”

Louis sighs in relief on the other side of the line.

“How did it happen? Was it Arnold?”

“No,” Harry answers. “She just kind of figured it out.”

“Was she… how did she reacted?”

“Eh, she is… I don’t know. Not really surprised. But still a bit…” Harry twirls the tip of his bedding in his hands. “I’m gonna tell dad this weekend. Gonna tell everyone.”

Louis’ voice is careful when he speaks again.

“Harry. You know you don’t have to, right?”

“I do. But I want to.”

Louis stays silent for a second; Harry can hear a childish voice in the background. “I am so proud of you, love.”

 _I am going to tell you_ , Harry thinks,  _I’m going to tell you I’m love with you._

“I… let’s talk about something else.”

“Alright. What do you want to talk about?”

Harry changes the mobile from one ear to ear, settles his back in the headboard. “How was practice?”

**xii.**

_love you_

It doesn’t happens the way Louis planned, just like everything else.

One minute he’s watching Harry laugh at Niall’s ways as the Irish lad pretends to pole dance in one of the train’s bars, on their way to a concert in a concert in Sheffield, face so sweet and open, thinking he is really a real person, he is something that truly exists, and blurting out he loves him on another.  
Harry turns around admirably fast, eyes huge and bewildered.

“What?”

And that is it.  _I fucked up_ , Louis thinks.

He imagined a million ways this could have gone - with Harry under the weeping willow, in his bed, in a romantic dinner. Louis imagined sitting him down, telling about how grateful he is for Harry’s mere existence, for the benevolence of the gods in their decision of placing him in his life.  
_These have been the best months of my life, Harry Styles, and growing up was never an option to me, but here, watching you just be, I would accept to grow old with you._

“Sorry,” he blurts out, feeling his hands starting to sweat. “I'm sorry.”

"Don't be," Harry mumbles. "Love, please don't be."

He leans forward, setting his forehead against Louis, his eyes wide shut. Louis can smell Harry's mint breath, feel the soft texture of his skin and the nimble cadence of his breathing patterns. The train sizzles over the rails, and the sound of laughter hits his ears, but he remains indifferent - Harry has him trapped in a little world where only the two of them exist.

"I love you too," Harry murmurs. "Love everything about you."

 _Heaven._ He's in heaven.

"Do you?"

" _Madly._ "

"Madly." Louis repeats, breathing Harry in, adjoing their mouths.

Harry's hands are rest around Louis' neck and it feels so intimate, so fragile, so dangerous.He reaches for a curl, his skin prickling with the vivid urge to touch, to feel him; twirls it in his fingers, pulls and repeats in with another. Harry laughs, opening his eyes; Louis feels elated.

 _He is mine, and I'm his._ _I'm his in any way he wants me to be._

"My little heaven," he says before the moment is over.

**....**

"Okay?"

"Yeah."

"Love you," Louis says, laying over to plant a kiss on Harry's shoulderblades, hands set on each side of his flank.

"Love you too." Harry sighs, turning his head to give him a sloppy kiss. "It's okay, you can move."

"Tell me if your back hurts," Louis says before rolling his hips on a first thrust.

Harry's body arches under him, arse pushing against Louis's crotch. Louis' carresses his love handles and sucks a fat bruise on the back of his neck, thighs clashing against Harry's, on the verge of euphoria.

Harry’s mouth falls open, releasing small huffs to every roll of Louis’ hips, getting more and more desperate as he quickens the rhythm and he approaches the edge.

"Come for me, love," Louis encourages, kissing all over Harry's back. " _So beautiful, baby."_

When Harry comes he's a mess of limbs and spunk and sweat, collapsing over Louis' bed. Louis follows him immediately after, kissing all over his face, hands still clutching Harry's body.

"You keep stealing all my virtues away, Louis Tomlinson," Harry breathes dramatically. "What am I to tell my father, now?"

Louis barks a laugh, rolling his eyes. "Please do not ruin the mood."

Louis throws a bit of shampoo over Harry's head later, massaging his scalp lazily. Harry closes his eyes blissfully, relishing on the touch, bruises starting to darken in his milky skin.

"Me tooth hurts," Louis comments, fingers lost among wet strands of curls.

"Not my fault."

" _Whoa."_

Harry shrughs, shoving his head under the water jet. "Well, heaven, go to the dentist," he says. "You know the drill."

"I've had enough with you, Styles."

If Jay makes much of their damp hairs, she doesn't let them know. Harry settles on baking cupcakes before leaving, and Louis keeps him company on the kitchen, handing him utensils and ingredients Harry deems necessary.

" _Sugar,"_ Harry scolds. "You must be kidding me, Lou. You _know_ the difference between sugar and flour, for Christ's sake."

"Well," Louis retorts. "The only reason my teeth hurt is because you give me too much sugar."

"Shut up."

"Your teeth hurt?" Johannah chimes in.

"Ya," Louis answers. "The molar."

"The molar, huh? Might be your wisdom tooth."

" _Oh,_ the wisdom tooth," Harry singsongs. "You're old and wise now, Lou."

"Didn't I just told you to shut up?"

Harry snorts, working on his cupcake dough. " 'm not kissing you when you get bad breath, anyways." he says. "Your loss."

"I will kiss someone else, then." Louis giggles. "Finally giving another Louis a chance."

"You listening to this, Jay? Your son is a nasty cheater."

Johannah raises a dismissive hand in the air, grabbing a bottle of water. "Solve your problems without me," she says before leaving the kitchen, giggling.

Harry lets out a long sigh, firm arms working on circular movements. "I'm gonna tell mum tonight," he says quietly.

Louis shoves a finger in the dough, taking the sweet flavour to his mouth. "Tell what?" he asks, mindlessly.

"About Ms. Flack."

Louis stills. " _Oh."_

Harry only nods, suddenly uptight, eyes set on the dough. "Yeah."

"That's good," Louis says lowly. "That's  _very_ good, love."

Harry nods again. "Yeah, I think it's time."

Louis closes the distance between them, leaving a kiss on Harry's left shoulder. "It's gonna be fine."

"I know."

**....**

That night Anne leaves and gets back home with blood on her knuckles. Harry eyes her with his lips tight, but says nothing, and Robin messes with his plate of food anxiously. She kisses both of their heads.

  **....**

Harry finds Louis in the locker room on the Friday night, still in his muddy footie kit, laughing loudly, face open and bright. Harry loves the sound.

"You were brilliant out there," Harry says proudly as he pulls him in for a hug. "Three goals! _Bloody. Brilliant."_

Louis kisses the tip of his nose, grin so large and beautiful, and Harry leans into his touch when he takes his face between his hands. "You're an angel," Louis says, breathy and exhilarated. "You give me luck."

"You are my favourite person, did you know that?"

"I do," Louis answers. "I do."

**xii.**

**May**

_Epilogue_

"Do you love me?"

"With my entire soul."

Louis lays a kiss over Harry' neck, the heels of his hand digging on the muscles of his naked back delicately. "As do I."

"What prompted this?"

"Nothing," Louis answers. "Just felt like hearing it."

"Soft, are we?"

"What can I say, baby? You made me soft."

Harry chuckles, feeling the smell of soft grass under him. Spring reached it's height, the birds singing and flowers blooming and grass green, the old weeping willow surging healthy, beautiful and magestic above them. He takes a deep breath, relishing the good weather.

"You've always been soft, Lou," Harry answers finally. "don't fool yourself."

Louis chuckles from where he's sitting besides him. "Well, you make me softer, then."

"I will settle for this."

Louis runs a fingertip down his spine. "Is your back any better?"

"Yes," Harry says, rolling on his back. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Louis' hand rests over his abs, his pointer finger finding his way up and down. "If I invite you to Holmes Chapel, will you go with me?" Harry questions.

"Will your father try to avenge your virginity?"

"No."

"Then yes, of course, but I have a match this weekend."

"Yeah?"

"Uh huh. Jarvis said there will be some guys... from some unis... yeah."

"Oh," Harry says, taking Louis' hand between his. "an important one, then."

"Yes."

Harry takes a palm to his mouth, kissing it, watches Louis smile at him softly. "Nervous?"

"A bit," Louis answers, cradling his jaw. "Harry?"

"Yes?"

"What will happen to us when we go to uni?" Louis asks, eyes narrowed, and Harry reckons it's the first time he has ever seen him genuinely insecure - and it's a terrible, uncomfortable vision. 

"Dunno." he answers. "But we will be fine."

"Easy to say."

Harry furrows his brows. "Don't be negative."

Louis sighs. "Sorry. You're right."

"Come here," Harry says, opening his arms. "Give us a cuddle."

Louis lies down beside him, warm and solid, resting his head over Harry's shoulder. "Do you love me?" Harry asks.

"Just told you I do. And you know that."

"Then I think that's enough," Harry murmurs. "It can't be more complicated than this."

Louis nods, breathing Harry's scent in. "Yeah, it can't."

Harry gives Louis' hair a kiss, cradling his head. "I could marry you right now," he says mindlessly.

"I could marry you everyday at every minute."

"Can we have a cat? When we marry?"

Louis raises his head to give Harry's jaw a sloppy kiss. "I approve of a cat."

"And our own spot wherever it is that we end up?"

"Anything you ask me," Louis says. "I will provide it to you."

"I want a weeping willow in my backyard."

"I will get one," Louis giggles. "maybe this exact one. Maybe I will plant it meself."

Harry chuckles. "Well, I will build our house with my bare hands."

Louis closes his eyes, hugging Harry tighter. "Yeah?"

"Will give you the best of the homes, Louis Tomlinson."

Louis kisses over a rib lovingly, listening to the sounds of the river rushing by. " 'm already home."

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> The poem Harry reads in subchapter five is 'A Glimpse' by Walter Whitman, and the title comes from it, too. Subchapter's nine is from Broken Social Scene's song 'Lover's Spit'. Subchapter ten's title comes from the song 'Bobby' by Youth Lagoon. Did I googled dentist puns for subchapter twelve? Maybe.  
> My prompt was the following:  
> "Harry is content in his own little world. He goes to his classes, goes home, does his home work, or maybe watch movies or listen to music with his best friend, Niall.  
> Louis is transferring school for the billionth time because he was kicked out from the last. Louis transfers to Harry's school.  
> Harry is tasked to show this new kid around. Louis is baffled to find innocence in this person, he thought that kind of innocence did not exist anymore. Harry learns that there's more to life than just his text books, movies and music, Louis learns that he doesn't always have to run away."
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


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